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. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Anna was suddenly very quiet. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 01:29:45