“They’d better not,” said Hetty. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. 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. They were hailed as celebrities, the three of them. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. Anyone else who finds out must be killed, otherwise, you insure death or worse for us. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. ’ ‘Ah, you know about that, then?’ ‘That much, yes.
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