Lucy slept in the same room as Shari, only ten feet away. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. ” “She doesn’t care for him now?” “Not a bit. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. 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. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit.
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