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 but curiously, as if in a dream and backwards; a little town, an, avenue of poplars, pebbles, a bridge, a village. The snorting car climbed zig-zag fashion up a long hill; and here was the cross-roads where they had parted. Prokop raised himself up and would have jumped out of the car, but Mr, d’Hémon drew him back, and put the car into top speed. Prokop closed his eyes and now they were no longer going along the road but had mounted into the air and were flying. He felt the pressure of the air on his face and the impact of scraps of cloud like rags. The noise of the motor became a deep, prolonged roar. Below there was still probably the earth, but Prokop was afraid to open his eyes and see again the flying avenue. Quicker! To be smothered! Quicker still! His chest was constricted by terror and dizziness, he could hardly breathe, and gasped with delight at the wild way in which they tore through space. The car slipped up and down hills and valleys while from somewhere beneath their feet there came the cries of people and the whining of a dog. Sometimes they turned almost lying over on their sides, as if they had been caught up by a tornado. Now again they were flying straight ahead, pure speed, whizzing across country like an arrow.

He opened his eyes. Misty darkness, a row of lights shining through it, lights of a factory. Mr. d’Hémon drove the car in and out of the traffic in the streets, slipped through a suburb which seemed to be in ruins and they were again in the open. In front of the car stretched two long antennæ of light which fell on rubbish, mud, stones. The car whirled round corners, the exhaust drumming like a machine