“Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. 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. . An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them.
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