The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. 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. Them young prigs is all alike. There was no rush. ” “You are at least aware,” he said, “that you have on several recent occasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue.
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