The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. ” Lucy put her hand to her heart and pulled one of her kinky curls straight. E. E. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. Sorry. 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. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. After a while he spoke again. A girl—at my age—is grown-up.
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