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. You see, I’m selfish. Goopes was convinced exercised an exceptionally purifying influence on the mind. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims. “I MUST speak to you,” he said.
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