It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. 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. He looked at her, hurt. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. 9. They must be for your father.
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