He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. 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. ’ ‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed. “It’s a matter of feeling with me.
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