6. chipped stone angels

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Exiting the carriage, gently helped down by Jonathan, who it seemed was equal parts nervous, excited and something undefinable, I paused a moment to look up at Westminster.  Flags whipped in the breeze and and bunting gently swung back and forth.  Peering past the red, white and blue, I saw the image of an ancient angel, chipped and worn slightly with age and weather.  How many people had this angel seen walk past?  In times of national tragedy?  In moments of joy and celebration? Would he remember me?  In the endless streams of famous Britons, would my passage mean something?

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