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’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. 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. And yet it was basically a fine action. ” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. He whispered in her ear. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. ‘I am entirely English.
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