’ Gerald moved to the long sofa, dusted it with elaborate care with one of its cushions, and with a gesture invited her to sit down. The Tigress went prowling for nut, too. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. 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. "Confusion!" he cried; "something has happened. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely.
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