“You permitted me then to call you my friend. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. 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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