Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. There is light enough from the sun,’ she said, relieved. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. He'd never forgive 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.
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