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"His head began to turn on his stooped shoulders—to turn slowly, slowly. And of a sudden I thought I was going mad."
The High Places
A ghost story of aviation
. . .the high places of our air are swarming full of those wicked spirits, whose temptations trouble us.
Cotton Mather.—The Devil Discovered.
WE 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
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