She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. It was locked. \"What did you do?\" Mike asked. 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. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know.
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