Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. 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. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. "Jade," said Ah Cum. Kind of knows it, too.
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