’ ‘Nonsense. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. She felt her heartbeat accelerate until it was pounding her chest. 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. She drove me. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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