I had that coming. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. 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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