Mother and Son XI. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. Not at all. 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. I have been in torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel that you were making love so charmingly. There was no need to be afraid for me. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. . It’s Italian. . Wild.
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