The sense of speed, of gigantic transition, ofgoing southward, downward, over three countries, the tremendous mountain ranges, the sense of descent, tremendous regression and of moving, not moving, but in another way dropping straight down the map, as of the imminence of something great, phenominal, and yet the moving shadow of the plane below them, the eternal moving cross, less fleeting and more substantial than the dim shadow of significance of what they were actually doing that Sibjorn held in his mind: and yet it was possible only to focus on that shadow, and at that for only short periods: they were enclosed by the thing itself as by the huge bouncing machine with its vast monotonous purring, pouring din, in which they sat none too comfortably, Sigbjorn with his foot up embarressedly, for he had taken his shoe off, a moving a deafening, continurally renewed time-defeating destiny by which they were enclosed but of which they were able only to see the inside, for so to speak....