Ann Veronica liked their relationship all the more because it was an unusual one. 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. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.
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