My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her.
No, my client is not a monster, as she called him!
Her two clients were a former Mexican soap opera star who wanted to make it big in Hollywood, but didn’t want to learn the English language, and an actor who administered first aid to her after she fainted on mile 4 of the LA Marathon.
The client is Tea Reader.
Client”would perhaps be the best reading, if it were not awkward for the metre; but between “churl” and ”clerk” there can be little doubt that Mr Wright chose wisely when he preferred the second.
I was understanding intellectually that my new “client” was an opportunity that comes along — well, that’s never come along before, now that I thought of it.
My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny.