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Santos-Dumont Demoiselle, the Antoinette, and best of all, the Blériot XI that had flown the English Channel. For ten days I browsed in this wonderland with a mounting score of guilt and lies building up that I seemed powerless to do anything about. In the day time I could forget my crimes in studying the run of the wires from the cloche to the wings that controlled the wing warping on the Blériot, or trying to puzzle out how the engine of the Antoinette managed to run without a carburettor.
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