Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. The quarry had passed out into the open sea. 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. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence.
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