Wild," implored the turnkeys. 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 laughed gaily. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet.
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