Sunday
Fog and then sun. Quiet day reading. Did not feel very well. Dora Biggam here alone tonight and longed to start a
conversation, but could not.
Fog came on again tonight, and as
I was sitting reading by myself before going to bed, sometime before midnight I
heard the unmistakeable sound of an aircraft in trouble, somewhere to the
south. The engine was running very
badly, and died away in a sort of low rumble.
Listened anxiously, as if I was on the Post.
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