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. But it was very hard to follow. Salvation. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough.
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