A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. Gosse sneered. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. " There was another pause. ‘Pitiful. 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. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman.
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