On his left, Major Bevan was talking to a flying man, and Peter glanced up with him to see an aeroplane that came humming high up above the trees on the cliff and flew out to sea.
"Damned fine type!" said the boy, whose tunic, for all his youth, sported wings.

"Fritz can't touch it yet.

Of course, he'll copy it soon enough, or go one better, but just at present I think it's the best out.

Wish we'd got some in our circus.

We've nothing but ..." and he trailed off into technicalities.
Peter found himself studying Donovan, who lay back beyond Jenks turning the pages of an illustrated magazine and smoking.