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“Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. 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. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. “But you’re wrong.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 11:18:29