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. No more scuffling. It was Annabel who spoke. Rhea became alarmed that she was about to leave. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. Then she moved towards the door. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. He rose slowly and extended it. She took the initiative and guided his fingers inside her and bore down. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. ” He woke the glassy water to swirling activity again, and made the deep-blue shapes below writhe and shiver. To his relief, she nodded.
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