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The scene is a familiar one. Driving through a small town, far from home, examining the sites through the car window, when all of a sudden, you yell STOP. Because that antique market right there is so full of goodness that it's spilling out of the warehouse and all over the parking lot. Any decent person would stop and take a look, and fortunately, I married a very decent person, and he stopped, knowing his fate was sealed.
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