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John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. 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. " "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end.
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