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. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. It would hurt no one. ‘Both of them so wise after the event. Naturally it all came out then.
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