I miss her a lot. 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. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. See you in Science Class.
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