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. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. She could tell that he was furious in that instant.
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