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. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. ” Michelle said sassily.
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