’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. That's a queer yarn. 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. "Will that do?" he added, returning it.
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