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She chose to hold her nose. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. ’ ‘Pah! How can it be romantic? That is silly. Enschede's daughter. 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 suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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