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. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. None presented themselves to save him from that return. And afterward she saw a very much larger and more enthusiastic gathering, a meeting of the advanced section of the woman movement in Caxton Hall, where the same note of vast changes in progress sounded; and she went to a soiree of the Dress Reform Association and visited a Food Reform Exhibition, where imminent change was made even alarmingly visible. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. “And me.
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