I have yet another. 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. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. ‘Here we go again. Listen to me, Thames. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently.
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