"Never give in. I expect Mr. 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. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection.
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