He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. ” She said with a tone of defiance. "No, Rollo; not this afternoon. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. 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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