’ ‘Why should Gérard care?’ sneered Gosse. CHAPTER XXVII. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. " "Devil!" muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside. I would have heard her. 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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