Word: foggings
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...black-bearded Welsh farmer, and a London doctor, who had equipped his boat with a portable dictating machine so that he could record his own "hallucinations." A confident Frenchman, author of a book called The Atlantic for Me, started five days late, sailed gaily off into a pea-soup fog and has been sighted only briefly since...
...cautiously, apparently decided he was not a Polaris sub, and steamed away. One dusk, said Chichester, "I thought I heard voices. I poked my head out of the cabin. Alongside was a freighter; people were sitting on the bridge, having evening drinks." Battered by huge waves, isolated by fog, Chichester slept only four to six hours a night, fought his loneliness by writing a 75,000-word diary, disdained a prescribed daily log (sample question: "Happy without feminine company?"). An expert navigator, Chichester accepted the risk of icebergs and storms, gambled on a northerly course along the comparatively short Great...
...week's end the fog of mystery began to lift: insiders whispered that a conflict of interests in Chrysler's purchasing policies had brought about Newberg's sudden exit from the presidency. But as for details, most of Chrysler's management, along with everyone else, was still being kept in the dark...
...race was a six-day nightmare of groping through fog, hunting for the flicker of a breeze, and battling howling gales of 60 knots that heeled over the big ocean racers, ripped sails, snapped rudders, and forced sailors to lash themselves to their craft. But fair weather or foul, the short, stubby yawl out of Annapolis was the master of the Atlantic, clipping off miles with the regularity of an ocean liner. When the fleet of 135 boats finished the 635-mile thrash from Newport to Bermuda last week, the overall winner, for an unprecedented third straight time, was Finisterre...
...almost as certain as fog in London that Lady Attlee, 63, wife of Britain's former Laborite Prime Minister, will have a traffic accident every so often. Last week, for the ninth time in 13 years, her car was on the receiving end of a collision. As in the other crashes, Her Ladyship, an understandably cautious driver by now, was neither injured nor held at fault. Pondering the "bashed-in rear" of her little blue Fiat, Lady Attlee observed: "It was terribly unfortunate." More feelingly, Lord Attlee, her unscathed passenger, snapped: "Damned annoying...