The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. 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. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated.
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