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One afternoon last week, while the lazy Washington sunshine lay thick as honey, two of the most important citizens in the U.S. sat on a park bench in Lafayette Square, across the street from the White House. Pigeons strutted along the paths, inspecting the ruins of peanuts; sweaty tourists, slung with cameras, pounded past the corroded, green bronze of Andrew Jackson on a hobbyhorse, surrounded by toy cannons.

The two men were sitting in the park because only there could they get away from purring telephones and the endless shuffling of papers....

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