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. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. His name was Peter. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. "No," rejoined Thames, "I won't be treated like a common felon, if I can help it.
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