She asked the girl to fetch Mr. ” “It wouldn’t be you either. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. ‘Let her go. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. 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. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you.
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