269 They pulled up to the same spot where Michelle’s and the young man’s bodies were, already attracting dust and creeping bugs in the pit. 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. He smiled tenderly. “Can you give me any information as to this affair?” he asked. “What can I do?” “Go and see her. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. It was no use. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. But he did not follow on with the thought.
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