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. . The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. Now, more and more, we’re going to be interested in them, to be curious about them and—quite mildly-experimental with them. “No, you didn’t. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends.
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