She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. Gerald frowned. ‘You will not guess again?’ ‘No, no, I am quite out of ideas. 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.
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