She had never had a real doll. 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. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over her ethical positions. They were sure to catch up with her. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. And she was as shrewd as they come. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught.
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