She reached for the door handle. " Neither man spoke. 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. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. “Molly and you settled about the rooms.
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