‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. ” “There’s quite enough still,” said Ann Veronica, smiling, “that one doesn’t understand. Jack could hardly be accounted good-looking: Thames, on the contrary, was one of the handsomest boys possible. 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.
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