The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. 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. ” The suitcase loomed in her memory, making its presence felt once again. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. .
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