‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill. It was his tall stance and his pale skin that drew him out of the crowd. 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. Quilt was not long in following his example.
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