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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"


Obviously his confused mind had not grasped the situation. "Well,
sure, that's a pity, now." And he fell to gnawing that tawny mustache
of his.
"Come Major, you're next!" the Master bade him. "Take your wine-skin
and jump!"
Clarity of mind for a moment returned to Bohannan. Gallantly he shook
hands with the Master, saluted "Captain Alden," and picked up his
wine-sack.
"It's a fine whirl we've had," he affirmed, with one of his old-time
smiles, his teeth gleaming by the light of the silver lamp in the
Master's hand. "No man could ask a better."
I'd rather have seen what I've seen, and done what I've done, and now
jump to Hell and gone, than be safe and sound this minute on Broadway.
"Please overlook any little irregularities of conduct, sir My brain,
you know, and--well, good-bye!"
Calmly he picked up his sack and without more ado jumped into the
void.
"Now," said the Master, when "Captain Alden" and he remained alone.
"Now--you and I!"
"Yes," the woman answered. "You and I, at last!"
The Master set down his lamp on the floor all wet with condensed vapor
and wine. He loosened the buckles of her mask, took the mask off and
tossed it into the pit.


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