A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. " "There was a yacht in the river?" "I have nothing to say. “Mrs. 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. .
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