She opened the door to him herself. When things are at the worst, they'll mend. 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. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. She was poor.
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