Page:Weird Tales volume 33 number 04.djvu/111



E WERE still arguing as Swithin parked his car in the gloom at the edge of the airport—arguing gently. Everything about Swithin was gentle, even his arguments. For a moment we sat together in the snug dim light of the car's interior. Swithin's lean gloved hands rested slackly on the wheel, and his soft gray eyes regarded me thoughtfully, studiously.

"Here we are, Katharine," he said, "but I still have that premonition about the danger of your flying. For the last 123