At Sebring or the Nürburgring, it might have won him the Grand Prix. But the white Porsche of Britain's onetime Race Ace Stirling Moss, 35, now married to a pretty New Yorker and presumably a sedater, wiser man, was gathering lichen in a Hampshire traffic tie-up until he rolled into the right-hand lane to lap the pack. Whooshing through, he swiped an oncoming red MG that had refused to yield the wrong of way until threatened with extinction. Stirling thought the driver of the MG was "just one of those nuts trying to be...
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