On July 31 the American world fliers were to start on the last lap of their journey around the earth's crust. On that day the fog curled its haunches and lay down like a great gray beast from the Orkney Islands to Iceland. For two days, it did not stir. The fliers waited; all was ready. They had made the brief trip from Brough to Kirkwall easily, with a tall wind following them; in Kirkwall the engines had been tuned for the last time, final preparations had been made, even to giving each...
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