In Washington no owl hooted in the market place at high noon; no man's hand was aflame "like twenty torches join'd"; there was no dreadful night of thunder & lightning, of yawning graves and skittering ghosts; no two-headed dogs were seen; no lioness whelped in the street. There were no such signs or portents anywhere. Yet very soon now, on a Monday at high noon, a U. S. President would be inaugurated for a third term—a fact as gravid with significance to the U. S. as Julius Caesar's fatal Ides of March were...
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