It’s my choice, Lucy. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. Did he act to you that day as if he knew what he was doing?" "Not all of the time.
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