She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. 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 went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQyLjE5NS4yMjUgLSAyMC0wNS0yMDI0IDE3OjEyOjAwIC0gMTkxNTcyMjIyNw==
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