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It had happened a year ago when Von Dresslin, patrolling the north Swiss border, had discovered a British flyer planing low over Swiss territory in the air-region between Mount Terrible and the forest of Les Errues. Instantly the Hun, too, crossed the line: and the air-battle was joined above the forest.
A woman of courage would take her place beside me and compel the world to do her homage, help; a bright ready smile does it! She would never be beaten. Of course, we could have lived under a bushel stifled next to death! But I am for light, air-battle, if you like. I want a comrade, not a not that I complain.
The other aeroplanes, far above, had lost their semblance to mechanical man-driven machines. They were now the eagles of the air. They were rising, circling, diving in maneuvers that Dorn knew meant pursuit. But he could not understand these movements. To him the air-battle looked as it must have looked to an Indian. Birds of prey in combat!
A woman of courage would take her place beside me and compel the world to do her homage, help; a bright ready smile does it! She would never be beaten. Of course, we could have lived under a bushel stifled next to death! But I am for light, air-battle, if you like. I want a comrade, not a not that I complain.
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