To Clive Barrow it was just an ordinary day nothing unusual or strange about it, everything quite navel, nothing outstanley just another day but to Roger it was something special, a day amongst days... a red lettuce day... because Roger was getting married and as he dressed that morning he thought about the gay batchelor soups he'd had with all his pals. And Clive said nothing. To Roger everything was different, wasn't this the day his Mother had told him about, in his best suit and all that, grimming and shakeing hands, people tying boots and ricebudda on his car.
To have and to harm... till death duty part... he knеw it all off by hertz. Clive Barrow seemed oblivious. Rogеr could vizualize Anne in her flowing weddy drag, being wheeled up the aisle, smiling a blessing. He had butterfield in his stomarce as he fastened his bough tie and brushed his hairs. 'I hope I'm doing the right thing' he thought looking in the mirror, 'Am I good enough for her?' Roger need not have worried because he was
'Should I have flowers all round the spokes?' said Anne polishing her foot rest. 'Or should I keep it syble?' she continued looking down on her grain haired Mother.
'Does it really matter?' repaid her Mother wearily wiping her sign. 'He won't be looking at your spokes anyway.' Anne smiled the smile of someone who's seen a few laughs.
Then luckily Anne's father came home from sea and cancelled the husband.
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