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’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. Charvill’s fury was burning out. ’ She was seized by two strong hands and drawn close. There was going to be no quarter between these two. 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 thank God for His sunlight on your face. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. ‘Is it such a terrible prospect? I will take care of you—as long as you obey me.
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