” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. ” Courtlaw suddenly interposed. She could not realize what she saw. F. —'They have,' says he. I'm crazy over music, too. “Admirably, thank you,” Anna answered. 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.
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