The reward is mine. ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. " "And leave you thus?" rejoined Jack. Sheppard. 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.
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