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. " "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. "At least I'll try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. And when, at length, it was struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble.
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