London was tar black as the war year of 1942 began. The eddying, nearly solid crowd in front of St. Paul's could scarcely see its own faces as it waited for the midnight bells. No threat of an air raid spoiled the holiday, but the spotters, wardens and fire watchers, the steel helmets that the bobbies wore were reminders that London had been bombed, that she will be bombed again.
When the clock struck the crowd sang Auld Lang Syne. Then the people began to scatter, walking in pairs or groups past the gnarled...
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