I glanced downwards. We had now risen again to a considerable height. We
were flying over some provincial town I did not know, situated on the
side of a wide slope. Churches rose up high among the dark mass of wooden
roofs and orchards; a long bridge stood out black at the bend of a river;
everything was hushed, buried in slumber. The very crosses and cupolas
seemed to gleam with a silent brilliance; silently stood the tall posts
of the wells beside the round tops of the willows; silently the straight
whitish road darted arrow-like into one end of the town, and silently
it ran out again at the opposite end on to the dark waste of monotonous
fields.
‘What town is this?’ I asked.
‘X....’
‘X ... in Y ... province?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m a long distance indeed from home!’
‘Distance is not for us.’
‘Really?’ I was fired by a sudden recklessness. ‘Then take me to South
America!
‘To America I cannot. It’s daylight there by now.’ ‘And we are night-birds.
Well, anywhere, where you can, only far, far away.’
‘Shut your eyes and hold your breath,’ answered Alice, and we flew along
with the speed of a whirlwind. With a deafening noise the air rushed into
my ears. We stopped, but the noise did not cease. On the contrary, it
changed into a sort of menacing roar, the roll of thunder...
‘Now you can open your eyes,’ said Alice.