I am no exception. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. 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. This extraordinary child had opened up an old channel through which it was no longer safe to cruise. “Lord!” she said.
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