A clod, a piece of orange peel, The end of a cigar, Once trod on by a Princely heel How beautiful they are!
Of more than princely might are the heels of Signer Benito Mussolini, and last February they left a depression upon numerous clods as he plowed and sowed personally a small field of wheat on his farm near Forli, in the foothills of the Apennines. The iron features of Il Duce seemed those of a stern husbandman as he guided his old-fashioned plow drawn by two white oxen past purring cinema cameras;...
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