’ *** Mrs Chalkney, a long-time friend of the late Mrs Alderley, had been delighted to oblige that lady’s son. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. 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. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. ’ ‘I don’t even know your granddaughter, ma’am. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb.
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