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When she rang off, I rushed to the radio.

The announcers' voices, more frenetic than usual, came blasting in from every point on the dial... "sneak air attack"... "no official reports yet on casualties or damage"... "troops and planes being rushed to the Pacific Coast"... "President Roosevelt is now drawing up a message to Congress calling for a declaration of war"... "Washington stunned..."

I snapped off the radio. The sun had set and the shadows were lengthening. Except for the hum of traffic far below on Fifth Avenue, the room was still. I stood there, trying to take in the enormity of the words, "We are at war," and wondering, "What now?"

My eyes drifted to the fabrics hanging in long, shimmering folds on the racks. Suddenly, they seemed utterly trivial, a little girl's pretties. They were luxuries in a nation at war, I thought, there would be little interest, much less any need, for