In quiet, prayerful alarm one noon last week, there gathered around a plain brass bed in a modest chamber on the third floor of the Vatican a churchly diplomat, an eminent physician, a radio technician, two secret chamberlains. Propped up in the bed lay a sad but plucky old man, who had said: "It is to be hoped the world will at least believe I am still alive." He had marshaled words to speak into the silver microphone which now was suspended over his sickbed.
While his Secretary of State Pacelli, his Dr. Aminta...
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