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 We have been out of snow a long while now and the sun is shining and the water blue as far as one can see. There are some clouds ahead—what, I don't know. They look high and white.

Those clouds ahead continued from there on. Not again on the flight did we see the ocean. Skippy was right—it was no sea voyage.

Log Book:

140 m.p.h, now. Wonderful time. Temp. 52. The heater from cockpit warms the cabin too.

Bill says radio is cuckoo. He is calling now.

There is so much to write. I wonder whether ol' diary will hold out.

I see clouds coming. They lie on the horizon like a long shore line.

I have just uncurled from lying on Major Woolley's suit for half an hour. I came off this morn with such a headache that I could hardly see. I thought if I put it to sleep it