CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. For the first time it occurred to Ah Cum that the young man might not be quite conscious of his surroundings, that he might be moving in that comatose state which is the aftermath of a long debauch. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. 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 had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. She didn’t choose her man.
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