‘Laisse-moi!’ Impatience swamped him. “You fill me with happiness, John. It is not every sort of creature needs—these males. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. 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. It dawned upon him that he had been abominably used by Ann Veronica.
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