It was the Feast Day of St. James, but not the placid sort of feast day Rome is used to. From early morning the cobbled pavings clattered beneath the feet of multitudes wending their way to St. Peter's Square. The day grew hot, the streets blazed. Black-shirted soldiers halted the crowds, inspected pockets, handbags. By 4 p. m. the immense elliptical plaza before St. Peter's was packed with 200,000 expectant, perspiring people. At the far end loomed the pillared portico of Christendom's mightiest church, draped with languid purple streamers,...
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