The fourth of July. It was cold, a late summer, and they said it would be a dry one. There had been snow late in winter. Not that the snow often sat around in the south of England. But Spring had been poor too, and today he wore a light overcoat.
Mike climbed up from Green Park station into a windy Piccadilly and sparse hurrying crowds, his coat tails flapping about his legs. It was Independence Day in America, he thought as he strode along. "Humph," Mike grunted as he always did
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