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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"

I understand that perfectly well. And
that means two things, as direct corollaries. First, that you lose
a trained flyer and a woman with Red Cross training; a woman you may
sorely need before this expedition is done. Second, you deny a human
being who is just as eager as you are for life and the spice of
adventure, just as hungry for excitement as you or any man here--you
deny me all this, everything, just because a stupid accident of birth
made me a woman!"
Her clenched right fist passionately struck the table at her side.
"A man's world! That's what this world is called; that's what it is!
And you--of all men--are living down to that idea! You--_the Master!_"
The man's face changed color. It grew a little pale, with deepening
lines. He passed a hand over his forehead, a hand that for the first
time trembled with indecision. His strong teeth gnawed at his lower
lip. Never before had he lacked words, but now he found none.
The woman exclaimed, her voice incisive, eager, her eyes burning:
"It is because you _are_ a master of men, and of yourself, that I have
taken this chance! It is because I have heard of your absolute sense
of justice and fair play, your appreciation of unswerving loyalty
and of the heart that dares! Now you understand.


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