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. ” “Oh!” said Ann Veronica. ’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night.
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