When World War Two broke out, Ian Fleming went from a career of exciting journalism, and then boredom as a banker, to joining naval intelligence. Seeking distraction from his upcoming wedding, Ian Fleming sat down at his Royal portable typewriter in Jamaica and wrote what-after a few amendments-would become an immortal line in literature, and my favourite opening of any novel: ‘The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning.’ The authority of this sentence hints at the other, earlier origin for James Bond, more than a distraction from impending married life. One starts on a February morning in 1952.
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