What would you? I cannot fight them all. 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. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. He gave glimpses of possibilities.
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