IT WAS 2pm in central Westminster Magistrates Court No. 6, a modern chamber, done in blond wood, looking curiously Scandinavian in style, and the world's press were so focused on celebrities such as John Pilger and Jemima Khan crowded behind the defence desk, that few noticed Julian Assange slip into the room. Neatly dressed, more solid than he appears on screen, his white hair neatly clipped, he took his seat behind the semi-circular glass screen.
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