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Salon funéraire


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La petite vieille arrive au salon funéraire pour prendre les arrangements pour son mari qui vient de mourir.

– Quel âge avait votre mari, madame ?

– 98 ans… C’est ça, un bon 98 ans. À peine un an de plus que moi.

– Mon Dieu, madame, dans votre cas, ça ne vaut quasiment pas la peine de retourner à la maison!

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