“There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. Sheppard. ” And Ann Veronica’s face was hot. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. ” Lucy implored. 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. ” The sensation produced was gratifying enough. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.
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