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. On his third visit to the island she had surprised him, that is, she had glanced up suddenly and caught the look of the beast in his eyes. ” “And I,” Brendon said, humbly, “although I am afraid there is no chance for me, my errand was the same. You know you do, Annabel. Yes, of course.
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