Souvenir of gratitude and
warmest friendship." And all the pilots of the escadrille, in turn, came
to sign it. His comrades had often seen what he did in the air.
When Guynemer came back and landed, what a spectacle! Although a victor,
his face was not appeased. It was never to be appeased. He never was
satisfied, never waged enough battles, never burned or destroyed enough
enemies. When he landed he was still under the influence of nervous
effort, and seemed as if electrified by the fluid still passing through
his frame. However, his machine bore traces of the struggle: four
bullets in the wing, the body, and the elevator. And he himself was
grazed by the missiles, his _combinaison_ scratched and the end of his
glove torn. By what miracle had he escaped?--He had passed through
encircling death as a man leaps through a hoop.
His method was one of the wildest temerity and impetuosity, and can be
recommended to nobody. The number and strength of the enemy, so far from
repelling, attracted him. He flew to vertiginous heights, and taking his
place in the sunshine, watched and waited.
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