Dare you?” “Do you mean NOW?” “At the end of the session. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts.
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