He winced from the wasp-like sting. 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. Sindlesham tried. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’ His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened. ‘And for you, monsieur le major, it will be well if you do not make me a shock like this again.
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