Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. ” Her hand hung over the side of her chair nearest to him. Earles declared. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. 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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