Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. 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. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. “It was poison—why not?” she answered.
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