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. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. "Oh! you did, did you?" said the janizary. It was difficult to get right.
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