Her thoughts took words for themselves. “Both. . It really isn’t so easy to go as it seems. There's my thumb upon it. ’ The lady opened her eyes very wide indeed. ‘We were wondering about that. Bach?” They unanimously said yes. 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.
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