He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. “They would spoil every chance. 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. I have very few friends in Paris. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily.
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