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. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. He was just as much a greater master than any other I ever saw, as he was a greater judge of time and measure. I may want you.
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