"Well, I'm not DEAD yet!... A trip through the clouds is NOT the most
delightful of experiences for one in summer togs.... Especially
when one is gagged and blindfolded and roped down like a rebellious
steer.... So here I am cooped up again in a log cabin in the center of
an undulating plain where there might have been unending wheat fields
once upon a time.... Not a solitary animal is in sight.... The road
out yonder looks much the worse for wear. It seems ground into a
pumice stone by the hoofs of horses and the swift movement of heavy
wheels. Every gust of wind sends a cloud of fine dust pyramiding its
way across the fields and through the crevices of this suffocating den
furnished with a few wooden chairs, a hand-carved bedstead, a small
picture of the '_Virgin of the Partridges_' and a brass crucifix above
the bed.... I greatly SUSPECT my present whereabouts.... I am as much
mystified as ever why that veiled Métropole Circe continues to dog my
FLIGHTS.... It was she who was the daring flyer and she beat the whole
army getting to my retreat in that neglected villa and spiriting me
away...."
[Footnote A: Still the German nomenclature.]