No, she couldn't stand it--she couldn't--she couldn't,
and there was an end to it. She would go raving mad--she would
kill herself--she would--She lifted her head, wrenched suddenly
back from that chaos of despair, alert and intent. There it was
again, coming swiftly nearer and nearer from some immeasurable
distance--down--down--nearer still--the very room was humming and
throbbing with it--she could almost hear the singing in the wires.
She swung far out over the window edge, searching the moon-drenched
garden with eager eyes--surely, surely it would never fly so low
unless it were about to land! Engine trouble, perhaps--though she
could detect no break in the huge, rhythmic pulsing that was shaking
the night. Still--
"Rosemary!" she called urgently. "Rosemary--listen--is there a
place where it can land?"
"Where what can land?" asked a drowsy voice.
"An airplane. It's flying so low that it must be in some kind of
trouble--do come and see!"
Rosemary came pattering obediently toward her, a small, docile figure,
dark eyes misted with dreams, wide with amazement.
"I must be nine-tenths asleep," she murmured gently. "Because I
don't hear a single thing, Janet. Perhaps--"
"Hush--listen!" begged Janet, raising an imperative hand--and then
her own eyes widened.
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