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 smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. The situation bothered him considerably. I don’t care what else there is in the world. .
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