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. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. "The natives have foolish ways of saying things. So, you see—’ ‘Do not say any more,’ Melusine uttered, flinging away and moving to the fireplace. ’ ‘Certainly that is true. Gerald lost his head. .
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