Some hundred feet or more sheer below him was one of the big wind-vanes
of south-west London, and beyond it the southernmost flying stage crowded
with little black dots. These things seemed to be falling away from him.
For a second he had an impulse to pursue the earth. He set his teeth, he
lifted his eyes by a muscular effort, and the moment of panic passed.
He remained for a space with his teeth set hard, his eyes staring into
the sky. Throb, throb, throb--beat, went the engine; throb, throb,
throb--beat. He gripped his bars tightly, glanced at the aeronaut, and
saw a smile upon his sun-tanned face. He smiled in return--perhaps a
little artificially. "A little strange at first," he shouted before he
recalled his dignity. But he dared not look down again for some time. He
stared over the aeronaut's head to where a rim of vague blue horizon
crept up the sky. For a little while he could not banish the thought of
possible accidents from his mind. Throb, throb, throb--beat; suppose some
trivial screw went wrong in that supporting engine! Suppose--! He made a
grim effort to dismiss all such suppositions. After a while they did at
least abandon the foreground of his thoughts. And up he went steadily,
higher and higher into the clear air.
Once the mental shock of moving unsupported through the air was over,
his sensations ceased to be unpleasant, became very speedily
pleasurable. He had been warned of air sickness.
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