moment.

"Feeling better?" he asked at last, for the silence embarrassed him.

"Oh, yes, thanks."

She rose and flicked her cigarette out of the window.

"Where are you going?" he asked again.

"Home--to breakfast."

"Impossible!"

"Why?"

"You're not fit--"

"Oh, yes I am--"

"Besides, you can't--"

"Why not?"

"Your a‘roplane--it won't fly?"

She stopped in the doorway and glanced anxiously down the slope where
her Bleriot had fallen.

"One wing is broken, you see."