She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. Maybe others that I do not know about. She wants to be free—she wants to be legally and economically free, so as not to be subject to the wrong man; but only God, who made the world, can alter things to prevent her being slave to the right one. 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. Other, and more serious impositions, inasmuch as they affected a poorer class of persons, were practised by the underlings of the jail. Anna was singing as she used to sing.
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