Bright teeth gleamed and the glossy faces shone.
They had heard of Paris. They knew they were to have lordly times among
the poor white trash.
Suddenly Graham hit them.
He had aimed at the body of the aeroplane, but at the very last instant a
better idea had flashed into his mind. He twisted about and struck near
the edge of the starboard wing with all his accumulated weight. He was
jerked back as he struck. His prow went gliding across its smooth expanse
towards the rim. He felt the forward rush of the huge fabric sweeping him
and his monoplane along with it, and for a moment that seemed an age he
could not tell what was happening. He heard a thousand throats yelling,
and perceived that his machine was balanced on the edge of the gigantic
float, and driving down, down; glanced over his shoulder and saw the
backbone of the aeroplane and the opposite float swaying up. He had a
vision through the ribs of sliding chairs, staring faces, and hands
clutching at the tilting guide bars. The fenestrations in the further
float flashed open as the aeronaut tried to right her. Beyond, he saw a
second aeroplane leaping steeply to escape the whirl of its heeling
fellow. The broad area of swaying wings seemed to jerk upward. He felt he
had dropped clear, that the monstrous fabric, clean overturned, hung like
a sloping wall above him.
He did not clearly understand that he had struck the side float of the
aeroplane and slipped off, but he perceived that he was flying free on
the down glide and rapidly nearing earth.
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