In stone-deaf Lady Strickland's Maltese garden a land mine blew the tail feathers off her prize peacock, blew Lady Strickland off her feet. She remarked, as she got up: "At last I've heard something." Last week all the Maltese heard something they had been waiting long to hear: thunders of noise that meant an even chance of pasting the enemy back after almost two years of being pasted. Malta had gotten important reinforcements.
When Italy's sneak-punch into the war brought minuscule Malta under its huge, puffed-up shadow, there was not a single plane...
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