“I am much obliged to you,” he said. 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 dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 02-06-2024 00:34:10
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