Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. 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. Kneebone. A brief calm succeeded. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice.
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