The lines about his mouth gradually softened. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. Nothing else matters. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. 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. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNC43MC4xMDQgLSAxMy0wNy0yMDI0IDAzOjExOjU1IC0gMTQxMzcwNjA3Mg==
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