She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. " "You may spare me your compassion, friend," observed Thames; "I am falsely detained. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. My father died a year ago, by the way. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace.
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