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A TRAVELLER IN WAR-TIME
Toward the end of the summer of 1917 it was very hot in New York, and
hotter still aboard the transatlantic liner thrust between the piers.
One glance at our cabins, at the crowded decks and diningroom, at the
little writing-room above, where the ink had congealed in the ink-wells,
sufficed to bring home to us that the days of luxurious sea travel, of
a la carte restaurants, and Louis Seize bedrooms were gone--at least for
a period. The prospect of a voyage of nearly two weeks was not enticing.
The ship, to be sure, was far from being the best of those still running
on a line which had gained a magic reputation of immunity from
submarines; three years ago she carried only second and third class
passengers! But most of us were in a hurry to get to the countries where
war had already become a grim and terrible reality. In one way or
another we had all enlisted.
By "we" I mean the American passengers. The first welcome discovery
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