A Time of War [antikvár]

ChapterLx)oking out through the French doors of the Oval Office, Marshall watched the President pad through the Rose Garden, appearing as out of place as a polar bear. The huge man, his powerful gait oddly cumbersome, his dark blue suit already rumpledit was only noonstalked through the garden, looming over the profusion of flowers. If only he had a parasol, Marshall thought, it could be a scene painted by a crazed Monet.The President bounded up the patio stairs and disappeared into the White House.Alone in the Oval Office, Bradley Lawrence Marshall stood gazing out on the garden, then turned away. As always, the room surprised him; it was huge, yet smaller than expected, perhaps because a room that housed such power should be without dimensions, too vast to be contained by walls, let alone bordered by a bank of television sets, and tables on which newspapers and telephones were strewn.The electronics were unfortunate, Marshall thought, too mundane for the lofty setting, but elegance was not what one associated with Lyndon Johnson. Little bronze oil derricks and cattle figurines, a straw "Howdy" mat thrown on the floor over the thick carpet with the Great Seal of the United States: that was more the Johnson style.Marshall felt no disdain. It was just that since his being