’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows.
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