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. ‘That is very sensible, mon capitaine. "I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. Spurling had retired for the night. He's safe enough now. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. He was a philosopher.
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