“I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. 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. ” She said. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never.
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