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. “You do look really nice. Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. "The poor young man!" she said. Larry was able to retire.
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