Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. I heard only after it was all over. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. Do not believe it, Madam. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. But native! She must watch out.
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