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Sir John hesitated. 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. The doctor laughed. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for a few minutes. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. E. I tried. ‘Why, that’s it.
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