His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. His lips were tight drawn. 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 counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. Mr. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police.
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