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would have been [[strikethrough]] lost, [[/strikethrough]] at the mercy of my taxicab to find my way, and the latter were very scarce in the park and probably all occupied. [[underlined]] Fog penetrated rooms of hotel and my sleeping room and smells as a mixture of coal smoke and regular fog. [[/underlined]]
[[underlined]] Nov. 25. Same fog. Now appears grayish yellow. [[/underlined]] Wrote ^[[long]] letter to [[underlined]] George Baekeland [[/underlined]] explaining general situation and enclosing my proxy in case I cannot be back home in time for general meeting.
[[underlined]] Streets look queer with taxis and busses gliding by as isolated shadows. All lights burning in full day, yet only blurredly visible. Kerosene pressure torch-lamps placed at intersections flames about 6 feet above the ground to serve as beacons [[/underlined]]
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or buoys, [[underlined]] being more visible than [[/underlined]] higher placed street lamps. By invitation of Mr. [[underlined]] Kingsbury called "the Right-Worshipful [[/underlined]] Master of the [[underlined]] Turner's Company" [[/underlined]] (one of the oldest guilds in England) I went to their annual church service in the very old church of [[underlined]] St. Helens. [[/underlined]] Very old outside and inside, built 700 years ago. Very impressive by its antique quaintness and [[underlined]] hazy with [[double underlined]] yellow [[/double underlined]] fog, [[/underlined]] while motor cars and busses are [[underlined]] crawling along outside in the "pea-soup" fog. [[/underlined]] After service we walked to [[strikethrough]] Guil [[/strikethrough]] the antique [[underlined]] Guild Hall also penetrated by fog then a luncheon [[/underlined]] presides by [[underlined]] Kingsbury, [[/underlined]] and attended to by [[underlined]] wardens and old masters of the Guild, [[/underlined]] all important and solemn looking English business men. I was put next to the right of [[underlined]] Kingsbury, [[/underlined]] my neighbor on the left being an M.P. who had