You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. This will be safer than cutting his throat on shore. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. A dressing-room then. 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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