A sense of impending disaster was upon him. Softly she rose to her feet. 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. He got up brusquely. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s face. It is magnificent indeed. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time.
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