They had changed identities absolutely. 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. " "You don't say so!" exclaimed Shotbolt. ” “What did you hear?” Lucy felt herself unwillingly compelled to hang on Michelle’s every word. ‘Don’t concern yourself.
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