“Oughtn't I to sign something? Don't I get a policy of some kind?”
Agent No. XYQ/384/b, who had already reached the door, turned and regarded Mr Figaro with faint annoyance.
“What on earth for?” he demanded.Timesaving can't be compared with any other kind of saving - it calls for absolute trust on both sides.”
“Your word is good enough for us, especially as you can't go back on it.”
“We'll take care of your savings, though how much you save is entirely up to you - we never bring pressure to bear on our customers.”
“Good day, Mr Figaro.” On that note, the agent climbed into his smart gray car and purred off.
Mr Figaro gazed after him, kneading his brow. Although he was gradually becoming warmer again, he felt sick and wretched.
The air still reeked of smoke from the agent's cigar, a dense blue haze that was slow to disperse.
Not till the smoke had finally gone did Mr Figaro begin to feel better.
But as it faded, so did the figures chalked up on the mirror,
and by the time they had vanished altogether Mr Figaro's recollection of his visitor had vanished too.
He forgot the man in gray but not his new resolution, which he believed to be his alone.
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