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This was less than reassuring. As was the sight of Swenson’s glider—a dinged-up, silver-and-orange craft that looked like some kids had built it in their junior-high rocketry club. Nevertheless, we were soon in the air. Griffler’s plane towed us high above the foothills on a thin gray rope. There was a bang, the rope fell away, and we were floating free at ten thousand feet.
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