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on for hours. Passengers retched and of course were unable to take themselves to the washrooms. I have never been a rardy [[hardy]] air traveller, much less a fatalist in a plane. The smallest bump sets me on edge and I detect, or think I can, the slightest change in the sounds of the engines. Now I could only close my eyes and pray.

Mercifully, at long last, the lights of Le Bourget twinkled below, [[strikethrough]] [[markkng]] [[/strikethrough]] marking the runways. Heavy rain was falling but even the puddles felt good because they were on solid ground. Having little baggage, I expected to sail through customs and immigration and be on my way to the Crillon in no time. A shock awaited me.

The immigration officer leafed through the pages of my passport and then went through it a second time. "Madame has no entry visa," he said.

I said a friend (Frances) had made the