” She could have handled ten times the weight, and hoisted him on her back and carried him too. 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 like the direct approach, she thought. I can’t but feel it’s an undesirable complication to drag in the Charvills at this point. “See you at school tomorrow.
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