Doctor and the nurse said that many people who are never upset were sick last night. It must have been the fat in the fried camotes—we just can’t take fat in any quantity—for nearly everyone was trotting in the night.

Over coffee, Jerry told about Anne’s lovely costume as a Chinese girl at the party, of Reamo as Cupid, Ricky as a Red Cross box, cowboys, and many simple but ingenious getups out of nothing. He said the children’s parade was great fun and it was hard to judge the best. Yamato attended and is still in a daze over it all, transported with delight.

At midnight I woke suddenly, hearing planes. I sat up but thought I was dreaming it. But it was a plane overhead, very low and roaring loud. The Green Barracks was a riot, with people in all sorts of dress and undress, which, after the roar faded into the sea, subsided into the long trek to toilets which is always humorous. Supposition says it was a Japanese plane getting out to Japan but nobody really knows. Some slept all the way through the racket but most of us will not forget the excitement and noise in the dead silence of night—the first time it ever happened in the dark.

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