. " "I wish I could have foreseen. “It isn’t a joke,” she said. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. 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 believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked.
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