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. ’ He glanced at the captain. “There are policemen—and buses. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. You go cheer him up. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face.
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