Word: fogged
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...Quoddy's output to areas where it could be used. That duty done, he settled back to watch his boys play baseball on the sand, a game which ended with members of the New Brunswick Cabinet taking on an all-U. S. team. Driving home as the fog began to roll in from the bay, the President held a reception on the porch of his red bungalow for his fellow-islanders and visitors from the U. S. mainland a mile away. Gifted with the art of making men hopeful, he told them...
Emmy Göring on the other hand says she likes "fine sewing" and "a good thick Hamburg fog." After lunch the General, arm in arm with the Colonel, led him to the basement to meet the lion cub. When Lindbergh patted the cub without flinching, he was rewarded with an invitation to go hunting with Premier Göring who is also Germany's Master of the Hunt...
Loitering along the Nova Scotia coast, lying fog-bound in isolated harbors, seagoing Franklin Roosevelt last week provided the seven correspondents expensively trailing him in a chartered schooner with no more newsworthy facts than that he had clicked on a radio for Alf Landon's acceptance speech (see below), trolled seven hours for tuna without getting a single strike. This week, bronzed and fit after a fortnight of his favorite sport, wearing new-grown mutton-chop whiskers like his late father's, the President ended his 417-mile cruise at Campobello Island, seeing his summer home...
...Fundy on the longest open-water sail he had taken since boyhood. Thirty hours later he had covered 125 miles, dropped anchor off Cape Sable on Nova Scotia's southern tip. As the flotilla headed north next day the President's prayer for fog was answered (TIME, July 20), but it was not heavy enough to let him escape the stream of dispatches convoyed from the Hopkins at every stop. Off the tiny fishing village of Shelburne on Sunday he woke to a cold drizzle, decided to stay put for the day. Late that afternoon, looking healthier than...
...complete rest," the President told his Hyde Park neighbors last week, "except that I shall have to read 40 or 50 dispatches a day and sign a bucketful of official mail every few days. I'll have to do this unless, of course, I get lost in a fog off the Maine coast. Well, my friends, I'm praying for fog. These days most people pray for light, but I'm praying for fog...