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. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. You know you do, Annabel. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave.
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