''THE black door opened magically as Charlie Butler approached, the doorman concealing himself behind it as it swung back. Charlie switched off his mobile phone and deposited it in the wooden rack. He climbed the stairs, passing the portraits of the forgotten or reviled or (less often) venerated prime ministers. Flunkies steered him through the smaller state rooms, with their uncomfortable-looking furniture, and into the large reception room that overlooked the garden.
This was where the assembled lobby journalists..'' THE ECONOMIST''
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