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. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. ” He declared. "But it won't do. I knew it. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. I’ve got a lot of things to think about.
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