There'll be a hush over London as the last few minutes of the Old Year tick away. Then, from the four orange faces of Big Ben will come the first chimes of midnight, slow and reverberating, creeping from radio sets into every waiting home in the land. A new energy stirs. In the shadowy silence of St. Paul's Cathedral the Watch Night congregation will bend more fervently. At Piccadilly, amid the hooters and factory sirens that will mingle with all the city's bells, young men and girls will surge around Eros, wildly yelling, singing, dancing. Less riotously, nearly 8,000,000 Londoners (provided...
A Letter From The Publisher, Jan. 3, 1949
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