The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. Spurlock bent his head to the rail. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. "My child!" he groaned faintly. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away.
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