Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he
was clinging. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but
fitted in all the right places, he smirked. While he was considering what would be best to do, the poor maniac, over
whose bewildered brain another change had come, raised her head from under
the straw, and peeping round the room, asked in a low voice, "If they were
gone?"
"Who?" inquired Jack. I
should have gone mad without it. 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.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 18-06-2024 05:18:13