Piccadilly Circus was jammed with Londoners and country folk braving showers in summer frocks and flannels. Red bunting, dripping in the rain, hung from the steel railings, and gramophone records blared London Pride. In a clean white apron and battered hat, wizened old Polly Beecham, who has sold her flowers at the foot of the statue for 50 years, was agog with excitement. "I loike 'im," she exclaimed as the returning hero was hoisted into place. "'E's my companion, see?" A dewy-eyed lass in the crowd confessed her devotion just as shamelessly. "I cyme all the w'y from Ilford 'cause...
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