But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. I shall want you. 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. She turned with an effort. I tell you, that girl would jump into the sea, rather.
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