He started with a single sheet of paper. It was the third week of March 1952, four days after the visit to Alan in Guildford, and Ed was sitting at the small desk in his room on Grena Road with a pen in his hand and a blank sheet of paper in front of him and the absolute certainty that what he was about to do was either brave or suicidal and that the distinction might not matter. The previous chapters had been pamphlets. Rough ones—handwritten, folded, distributed by Ed at the edges of the uni...