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. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. ’ ‘Now why didn’t I make that connection?’ Gerald asked of the air in a tone of regret. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain. It is not at all what I expected either.
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