” Sir John seated himself deliberately. 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. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. I go back about once a year.
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