You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. 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. Montague Hill. “Exceptionally so. Sebastian had come to visit his old friend and former wife.
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