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. ‘Nothing. A knot of three policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants and distracted their attention. And, in applying the term to his friend, Thames meant to pay him a high compliment. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully.
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