You are marvelous!” Carolyn Diedermayer exclaimed. 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. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. “Don’t come nearer!” she said. There was none. He seemed to do ten things before she could think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat.
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