” “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” “Please!” she insisted. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. 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 is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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