had talked with us on the water—but the image was lifeless. It was of steel and wood and wax.
The pilot of that mad, blue monoplane was an effigy. It was nothing with heart or with mind; it was nothing of flesh and blood; it was nothing mortal. It was a mechanism.
Of course, I knew that a mind must direct it; but the mind was removed at a distance, controlling the monoplane by radio, endowing it with an immunity to consequences and with a mercilessness far beyond mere madness.
