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426
July 28, 1918.
Much rainy weather, and a day's indisposition due to a midnight feast which in turn was occasioned by the latest [[gother?]] raid, and a party given by the Second Pursuit Group. Not very exciting to be truthful, but 'tween dismal prophesies concerning the aspect of the weather for two hours at a stretch we did a little patroling, to no good avail. The clouds have been exceptionally bothersome and although I like to sport about their billowy forms it isn't altogether in the line of duty.
The party was a striking success as parties in the zone of advance go. The reason I [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] say so is that our commodious French permanent barracks were the most convenient setting we ever [[strikethrough]] hade [[/strikethrough]] had. The dancing was vivacious the rooms and halls flowing with plainly happy people. Naturally the preponderance of men was over and above the supply of Y.M., R.C. and French guests.
Besides good champagne and Scotch punch (where did they get it) there was served the finest chocolate cake and the most luscious vanilla ice-cream that it has been my joy to consume for many months.