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. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both
Testaments a word had been blotted out. I ought
to have gone long ago. ’
‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what
Pottiswick thought. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?”
“I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. What’s that?”
They both stood listening.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 30-06-2024 10:32:14