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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. ’ Exasperated, Gerald glared at her. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. I want you. Do you know, Lady Ferringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself her friend.
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