” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. Even your family. That is what I must do. I am. 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. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her.
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