It was nearly midnight in London. Sentry-boxed Downing Street lay quiet save for the tramp of guards. Inside No. 10 a taut secretary hurried to the Prime Minister's door, knocked impatiently, turned the glass knob. Winston Churchill stood beside his desk, reading a sheaf of reports. The secretary handed him a note. "Sir," he quavered, "President Roosevelt died a short time ago." The Prime Minister's face paled. He sat down, motionless for five full minutes. Then he lifted his head, with the heaviness of a man who is suddenly very lonely. He...
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