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. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. .
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