“I will not be drawn into a conversation with 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. She was delivered home by 11:30pm. It was most amusing. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be.
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