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. “It looks all right,” said Capes. She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. " "Oh, no!" Ruth protested.
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