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“Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. 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. "Plague on't!" added he: "I never meant to take your babby from you. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. . ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him.
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