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He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. 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 loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known.
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