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I noticed there were a lot of feminine touches around the flat. The minute you start talking to someone who admits they’re married, alarm bells should be ringing.It doesn’t matter what state their relationship is in – they have committed themselves to someone else, but are choosing to stray.This time last year, I’d just moved to the big city, and was at a posh political event in Westminster, sipping awful red wine with the Eton crowd. ‘We broke up a few months ago, but I’m ready to move on.’I wasn’t convinced – after he admitted they’d been together for a few years, and had moved in together, I knew it would take longer than that to get over her.I had no idea how I got there, and I noticed a guy on the sidelines who looked how I felt. If he couldn’t even get rid of her stuff, how could he be ready for someone new?Then she lived in a furnished room where she had more freedom to come and go. During Betsy’s quest for a man, I lost twenty pounds. Through a friend, we located a widow who had a tiny room she saved for out-of-town visitors.There is one big difference between their fancy methods and mine. About eighteen months ago, my niece, Betsy came to New York from a small town in Massachusetts. She had a lively and youthful spirit and was so carried away by the idea of marrying off Betsy that she bought a special tea set which she called “courting dishes” for entertaining the potential beans.She had been a salesgirl in a department store, and felt she was in a rut. Betsy was a sensitive creature, and we were playing with fire.

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At first, it was hard for Betsy to discuss beautifying treatment, but she finally did something about it. Develop a common interest — and let love steal up on you both. Since she had little opportunity to meet the right boys there, her mother had no objection to her going to New York. “Oh, I wish I were back home,” she cried through her tears. Who’ve I got in this great big warmhearted city of yours? ” Not knowing what else to say, I whispered gently, but without much conviction, “Well, you have me. ” Betsy threw herself into my arms and practically cried herself to sleep. I would get Betsy married, even if it killed me — and it nearly did. But she promised to give our beloved law of averages a chance and follow our chart.What Betsy and I went through in these eighteen months shouldn’t happen to a dog. While the going was good, I tiptoed out of her house. She was to go four nights a week where men were likely to be.She felt that two strenuous evenings should be separated by at least one quiet one at home.After trying one or two, she found a Friday-night group which seemed to attract more young people, so there she went.

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