She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. 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. Wood's," was the reply.
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