This great-uncle, he had met him two or three times, no more.
In truth, he didn't remember the frequency of their exchanges, not even the face of this distant relative.
On the other hand, he remembered down to the finest detail the appearance and attire of the aviator of another age whom his grandfather had evoked on the occasion.
His tweed jacket, his mica glasses and above all his cap which he wore backwards, as he himself wore his at that time.
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But it was above all the nature of the feat that this pilot had accomplished that had electrified him.
At the controls of a precarious machine, a joyous assembly of tarpaulins and piano strings, for what he had understood, he had completed his unprecedented flight in the heart of Paris, no less than on the roof of the Galeries Lafayette!
The kid listening had had no difficulty in remembering this name for the obvious reason that he lived close by, rue de Provence, and that his father had one day invited him to this eminence…
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