And Miss Miniver began to sway her. 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. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. " "Ha!" ejaculated Trenchard. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory.
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