” “No doubt. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. 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. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 20:15:27