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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Right waist gunner to pilot, sir. 190's at eleven o'clock. They're after the flight ahead." "Rear gunner Roger, sir. Flock of Focke-Wulfs at six o'clock. Coming in on our tail." "I say, old man, don't get itchy fingers. No ammo to waste." Allison's voice was calm and unruffled. O'Malley's voice broke in over Stan's headset. "Hey, sure an' we ought to go down an' bust that up."
Daylight had come to show plainly the silver hull with the distinctive red markings of the Service that slipped smoothly down from above to hang poised under flashing fans like a giant humming-bird. Her directed radio beam flashed the yellow call signal in O'Malley's control room. Chet was beside him, and the two exchanged silent glances before O'Malley cut in his transmitter.
They had not sat many minutes when a wild, unearthly cry was heard without. "The banshee again," said Moya, faintly. Jack O'Malley's soul sank within him; Harry started up and seized the blunderbuss; Jack caught his arm. "No, no, Harry, you shall not; sit down; there's no fear nothing will happen us."
The song ended several notes short and the little girl turned her head toward her audience, saying, "I knew some one came in." "Won't you sing for us?" asked Anne, who loved music. The little girl's voice reminded her of Nora O'Malley's, and Nora's singing had always been a source of delight to Anne. "Not now," smiled the singer. "I wish to talk, but I'll sing for you later."
Rostom spoke little Russian, and O'Malley's knowledge of Georgian lay in a single phrase, "Look sharp!" but with the aid of French the man had learned from shooting-parties, he gathered that some one had approached during the night and camped, it seemed, not far away above them.
"We sure miss a lot of missions because of bad weather," Stan admitted. "One of these days some fellow will invent a seeing eye sight that will look right through the clouds." "You been readin' the funny books too much lately," O'Malley said. "Missed any of yours?" Stan laughed as he glanced toward a pile of comic books stacked beside O'Malley's cot.
If O'Malley's written account, and especially his tumbled notebooks, left me bewildered and confused, the fragments that he told me brought this sense of an immense, sweet picture that actually existed. I caught small scenes of it, set in some wild high light. Their very incoherence conveyed the gorgeous splendor of the whole better than any neat ordered sequence could possibly have done.
I must send Zyarulla off at once to get my traps together. It means starting first thing." She looked at him in surprise. "Yes. But not you, surely. You're hardly fit for duty yet." "Nonsense. Barring my arm, I'm fit for anything. And if we're in for cholera, I don't see myself leaving Dick to handle the Battery without me." "You're bound to ask Dr O'Malley's permission, though."
You had the same temptation and you weathered the same storm." He caught O'Malley's arm a moment and held it. "You escaped this madness just as I did, and you will realize what I mean when I say that the sensation of losing my sense of personal identity became so dangerously, so seductively strong. The feeling of extended consciousness became delicious too delicious to resist.
It was wonderful how she could have undressed herself, and dressed herself the next morning, she seemed so weak and powerless! Tony and Father John got home to dinner about eight. They were both in good spirits, for Mr. O'Malley's speech had been so convincing to them, that they conceived it could not but be equally so to the jury.
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