” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. McClintock was amused. 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. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. It was so arranged that Ruth went on duty after breakfast and remained until noon. “She doesn’t know. At last she was roused. She would never, never go back. ‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone.
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