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26 His duties were to make certain that she was eating right and not exposing herself to foul odors and cold drafts. 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 looked away. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them.
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