But let that verse tell my secret. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. "You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. 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.
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