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. She could not part with dignity. So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNi4yNDkuNjYgLSAxMS0wNi0yMDI0IDE4OjU4OjEzIC0gMTAyMjIxODgxOQ==
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