Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. The Times slipped from his fingers. White. . ’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. Take him away," he added, striding up to Charcam. . 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 was a dead calm. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. . .
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