G. She realized that he was the sort of man one does not think much about at dinners. 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. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. ” Ann Veronica was deciding for further confidences. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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