Worse than any man. 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. “Go on!” she commanded. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. “I will tell you when to stop. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm.
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