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Something we don't normally do but sufficiently rare and attractive enough . . .
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PONG I PONG ! The two shots came in quick succession; they sounded hollowly in the metal cabin forming the central section of the 'plane's fuselage. Captain Lord spun a quarter-turn around in the narrow aisle, grasped at the back of the seat beside him. Irrelevantly he was wondering which of the shots had hit him, the first or the second.
It seemed a long time before he heard the clatter of his own automatic as it fell uselessly to the flooring. Bungled, the whole case irretrievably bungled ! His right shoulder was curiously numb, the entire arm and hand without sensation. No pain ; must have been hit through the shoulder, though.
He was swaying—or else the 'plane was swaying. No control over his knees. ... So he had found the criminal—his solution was right. Pretty late in the day for the right solution, with the criminal firing up the cabin from the aft partition, shielded by the pretty, little plump stewardess. Her body, grasped fiercely around the waist and held where it would receive any answering bullets, was large enough to cover every vulnerable spot except the right side of the head. She was kicking, fighting vainly against muscles stronger than her own. The neat whipcord of her uniform was crushed in folds between her body and the encircling arm, and her short skirt, dragged upward on one side by the struggle, revealed a brief but shapely leg, the gartered top of sheer hose and a line of rumpled lingerie above an inch of white skin.
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