Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. 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. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz.
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