" "Liar!" cried Jack. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. 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. That night in his den he smoked many pipes.
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