The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. 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. "I'll cut down him who opposes me. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. I will shed no more blood.
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