For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. 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. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. "I'm a detective; my ears and eyes have been trained to absorb all I see and all I hear. They were familiar but more massive. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “No one asks you to care for them.
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This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 18-09-2024 13:12:50
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