Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. 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. " "Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?" "Not in the lagoon.
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