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 was perhaps forty-five years of age. "What for?" demanded Wood. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls.
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