“Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. “They ought to have been lopped in the spring. Do you mind talking to some one else. 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. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. "I'll tell you why," he said. ” Sydney looked at her doubtfully.
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