For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. 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. I hate what I have to do to survive. ‘No, but I seen the light, sir. ” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent.
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