In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. \" Obediently, Lucia rose from her seated position on the bed and approached the baby and the mother in wonderment. 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. ” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. I almost died from this flu.
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