“I have finished work for the week. I’ll see no one else were he as terse as Tacitus,” cried Mr. Ferguson, the lawyer.

It was six o’clock on a Friday afternoon and a pleasant rustle of the plane trees in the square came through the open window of the office. Mr. Ferguson thought of his cool garden at Goring, with the river running past, and of the fine long day he would have upon the links to-morrow. Gregory, the head clerk, however, held his ground.

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