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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. "Did you never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them before!" "Never, I'll be sworn!" said Smith, taking the opportunity of filling his glass while his comrade's back was turned; "we're a nat'ral cur'osity. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. A very small settlement, mostly natives.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 22:10:45