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. His face was very serious. John eased off. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. 196 Succeeded where she had not. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. " "Poh, poh, my dear! Mr. ” Ogilvy reflected.
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