Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. 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. . Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. “Nothing so base. "I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild. And now her father said she must not go.
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