ten years, 28 jobs and an unspeak- able number of crashes later, i hadn't changed my mind. she lifts the nose of the tiny craft. begins to climb.
girls, this is mr. samuel chapman. sam, say hullo to the octopus club. the octopus club waves to sam. the adults wave, too.
i wondered. was i mr. putnam's 43rd mouse? or his 307th. now touching her, adjusting her coat, fluffing a bit of her hair, pulling the collar around to frame her face.
when's that hour of fuel run out?
and don't let anyone turn you around.
you didn't do this for business, anyway. g
i might fly to paris. silence.
but you don't think that, do you, ear?
a bad weld, already a small flame. it would be hours back to canada, trying to find an unlit field, landing with a heavy fuel load. she stares at the little flame. is it growing bigger?
the point is. men do it every day. and no one throws a parade. ah. well.
so he hasn't actually forbidden you.
but that's because you're an idiot.
only 700 miles to bangkok, it's
if you have a point, fred. make it.
we are on the line of position 157- 337, will repeat this message on 6210 kilocycles. wait, listening n 6210 kilocycles. we are running north and south.