Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily. 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. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. This was just what he needed.
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