A long-shanked German burgher with thinning blond hair, blue eyes red-rimmed by fatigue, lounged in Montreal's Mount Royal Hotel one evening last week, toying dully with a glass of beer. He wished the newsmen ranged about him would quit trying to make him a hero. He wished they would not refer to his arrival that day by flying boat from Germany as a "transatlantic flight." He wished they would not ask him lor the101st time if the route via Iceland and Greenland, which he had surveyed thrice...
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