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Updated: June 26, 2025
She was more lean and shrunken, more uncertain in her imbecility, and made stranger confusions in her mind and memory. Among other symptoms of this last affliction, she fell into the habit of confounding the names of her two sons-in-law, the living and the deceased; and in general called Mr Dombey, either 'Grangeby, or 'Domber, or indifferently, both.
It ended abruptly at a steel fence, but a roadway went on in a twisting course, making detection of the runway difficult. "Very clever," Stan said. "I was sure you'd appreciate it," Domber said. "Now we'll have a look at the P-51." They entered the underground hangar by going down a shaft in an elevator. Stepping out of the elevator Stan saw a well-lighted and spacious hangar.
It might be that Domber was telling the gun captain not to blast the P-51 if it made a run. In that case Domber had plans even if Stan got the ship away. Domber came back to the P-51 and Stan looked the other way as he bent forward and seated the valve. The tough part was that if he hit the mixture just right in seating that valve the engine would hit it off at once.
After listening for a few minutes the man left. He returned a few minutes later with a youngster not more than eighteen years of age. "Swen, you will be Lieutenant Wilson's assistant. Help him in every way you can. You are under his orders," Herr Domber said. "Heil Hitler," Swen said and saluted. He was a blond, curly-headed kid with a ready smile. Stan grinned at him and said: "We'll get along."
The radio had been stripped out of the ship along with every other instrument not absolutely necessary to test flight. Domber had only wanted to learn about the supercharger. His egotism in believing everyone else was dull-witted compared to himself had saved Stan. Over the estuary of the Rhine River Stan met his first flak.
Domber had ceased smiling and for the first time his hate came to the surface. He shrugged his shoulders suddenly. "But we waste time. We will have a look at the P-51." Herr Domber led the way from his shop and laboratory to the street entrance where a car was waiting. He scowled at the guards outside his door and shouted, "Heil Hitler!" Then he marched down the walk to the car.
'I said just now, Madam, returned Mr Dombey, loudly and laboriously, 'that I am coming in a day or two. 'Bless you, Domber! Here the Major, who was come to take leave of the ladies, and who was staring through his apoplectic eyes at Mrs Skewton's face with the disinterested composure of an immortal being, said: 'Begad, Ma'am, you don't ask old Joe to come!
When will you wish to try it out?" "Tomorrow afternoon," Stan said. "If you worked tonight you could try it out in the morning?" Domber suggested with a leer. "Yes, I guess so," Stan said. "Fine. I know you won't mind working tonight." "Of course not," Stan said and felt an itch to lay his fist against Herr Domber's receding chin. "You will honor me by having dinner with me tonight?"
The guards got in with the driver and the car pulled away. Stan noted looks of hate and fear on the faces of the Dutch people in the street as they watched the car slide past. He had a hunch Domber was known to these people; he also had a hunch the plane maker was hated and feared by them. They stopped outside a big house where four guards stood watch over the entrance.
Stan smiled at the little blonde seated before the typewriter. She returned his smile with a severe and steady look out of her gray eyes. No help there, Stan thought. "Be seated," Domber said, pointing to a chair beside the desk. He fished out a box of cigars, flipped the lid open, and extended the box toward Stan. "Smoke?" "No, thanks," Stan said.
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