Toward noon of a soft London day last week, Westminster Abbey glowed as richly as a Renaissance painting. From the banner-draped high altar to the flower-banked west door, the great Gothic nave was adazzle with tinted plumes and winking tiaras. Packed into rows of rented wooden chairs, the 2,000 waiting guests put their best profiles forward for the 30 TV cameras covering the abbey. At 12:02, two minutes behind schedule, a trumpet fanfare sounded from the rafters, the organ thundered Holy, Holy, Holy, and the bridal procession started its stately advance up...
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