E. 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. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow.
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