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” He said jealously. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. . Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. 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. Likely as not outside the law, too.
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