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The young man with the brown paper bag said, "Is Mrs. Coty in?"
"I'm afraid she isn't. Is there anything I can do?"
"You're Mr. Coty? I came about the soap." He held up the paper bag.
"Soap?" Mr. Coty said blankly. He was the epitome of mid-aged husband complete to pipe, carpet slippers and office-slump posture.
"That's right. I'm sure she told you about it. My name's Dickens. Warren Dickens. I sold her--"
"Look here, you mean to tell me in this day and age you go around from door to door peddling soap? Great guns, boy, you'd do better on unemployment insurance. It's permanent now."