It had been warm and bright in the morning. By mid-afternoon clouds hung in the blue sky, and their shadows lay on San Francisco. Outside the Opera House, where the modern world was about to begin its second quest of planned peace, a police lieutenant saw that rain was coming, felt the first drops, and said: "Boy, oh boy, this is it." Soon police horses glistened in the rain. The flags, half-staffed for Franklin Roosevelt, nodded damply downward. From the pavements, warmed by the recent sun, wisps of steam rose and vanished.
The Parade. Grey Navy buses, taxis, Army cars,...
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