At 9 a.m. the clear quick bugle notes of the "Alert!" cut through the hubbub of the fidgety crowd. Field guns pounded. In the pale blue sky three huge Army bombers droned, floating swiftly over the old town, high above miles of narrow, cobbly, people-packed streets.
The crowds had come to Boston at dawn, lugging soapboxes, peach baskets, camp chairs, pillows, even armchairs. Schools, stores, factories were closed; suburbs were deserted; boards went up on downtown windows. In the waiting crowd stood, sat or perched the thousand who would faint, the 400...
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