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58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. 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. ” There was a shout of laughter. "I'll tell you all about it presently.
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