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. Once more he was the searcher. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter.
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