Never mind. 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. Though it’s very kind of you. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth.
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