There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. 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. Other girls gathered around like sheep. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys. Here I am.
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