“But Sir John?” he exclaimed. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. 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. Now, the reward?" "I have but an ill-furnished purse. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. Pardon what I have said, Madam.
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