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. I set myself to find employment. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. "He will kill me," cried Thames.
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