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. There were swift actions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut a slack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. You desert your home; I throw up useful teaching, risk every hope in your career. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. We had better have it over. The gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety i' that pris'n.
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