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 might get lost in the billows of fog we are flying over.

There is nothing to see but churned mist, very white in the afternoon sun. I can't see an end to it. 3600 ft. temp. 52, 45 degrees outside. I have et a orange, one of the originals. At T. our infrequent oranges came from Spain, under-nourished little bloods.

Very "original" those oranges, almost historic! They were purchased in Boston in the dark ages of the Friendship's take-offs. In the three unsuccessful efforts during that fortnight of disappointments, they went out to the ship with us each morning and came back again to the hotel. But sturdy oranges they proved to be, and nearly a month later were still in good form when they finally found a place on our mid-Atlantic menu.

On the trans-Atlantic flight three oranges, appropriately from California, comprised my full bill-of-fare with the exception of probably