Wait a moment. I’ve got imagination. The image did not move. She tore open the envelope and read it. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. “I too am asked. 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. And she defies me.
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