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. \"Stop smiling, you're scaring me. ” She laughed softly to herself. "Make it known among your friends. The Oriental has no equivalent. \" Lucy replied sardonically. ’ She paused, holding her nurse’s eyes. ‘All this gadding about.
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