“There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. 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. Then it dawned. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards.
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