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A tall, sunburned man in a straw hat climbed out of a small plane at the Syracuse airport last week, and with a trim, grey-haired woman hurrying along beside him, made for the airport waiting room. No one recognized Mr. & Mrs. John Foster Dulles as they crossed the crowded lobby, sat down at the lunch counter and ordered ice-cream sodas.

The Republican adviser to the State Department fixed his vanilla soda with his habitually solemn stare. A year ago, in a spell of concentrated writing, he had delivered himself of this...

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