"Jack!" she cried, raising her head. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. In the beginning it was a dictionary. Mr. 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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