" The Wastrel advanced. But all of that was forgotten. 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 haven’t been so much entertained since I left the Army. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ’ Madame ventured a glance up at his face, and fluttered her lashes. ’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile.
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