Glancing up, as the air-raid sirens burst into a wailing warning, the tall, trimly uniformed man and his smartly dressed wife stepped from their car, walked slowly into a South London shelter. In the dim half-light they could see a score of Londoners sitting on the hard wooden chairs—overalled A. R. P. men, women canteen workers, policemen, workers covered with the dust of a shattered building next door. At first the others hardly noticed their arrival, then leaped to their feet with amazement, cheered lustily as they recognized Their Majesties King George VI...
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