Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. 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. " In less time than Hobson had mentioned, the carriage was announced.
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