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Approaching eighty-five years of age, Mrs. Harris finally decided it was time to give up her apartment in New York and move to Miami. She was given the name of a Florida realtor, who enthusiastically drove her all over Miami, extolling the virtues of every apartment they looked at.
“And this one, what a steal,” he rhapsodized, “the investment of a lifetime. Why, in ten years it’s gonna be worth three times. . .” “Sonny,” interrupted Mrs. Harris, “at my age I don’t even buy green bananas.”
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