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entirely a joke.

We sailed on the Berengaria on June 19, 1935. Berengaria. The very name calls up images of the era of the great Atlantic liners. Who can ever forget the deep-throated blasts of their whistles, echoing from the docks, through the canyons, of New York to the far reaches of Central Park. Time and again, they interrupted my weaving in the Washington Square apartment. I would sit motionless at the loom, picturing the bon voyage parties aboard ship, the champagne toasts, visitors streaming down the gangplanks, and then the midnight sailing. The crossing took five days and sometimes longer then but the world's pace was more liesurely [[leisurely]] in that era. Besides, I heartily agree with whoever wrote the slogan, "Getting there is half the fun."

A bevy of Lebuses met us in Southampton and whisked us to the Barclay Hotel in London. Some days later, they presented us to the matriarch of the clan, Aunt Esther.