“Just think about what you are asking, John, please. 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. " "None whatever," replied the mob. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. The militia were in already.
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