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Good morrow one and all and welcome to the real football factories another fascinating night of Europa League behaviour.

"Good morrow to you, on this Market Day," said the stall holder, clambering down from the painted caravan parked behind the stall, and she smiled widely at him with white teeth in a dusky face.

“Good morrow, young lummox,” said Liza’s voice.

"Well. You'll want to talk with your friends, I expect. I'll bid you good morrow."

“Good morrow, lad,” he cried out, even as his hand eased off his weapon.