It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “It’s Kitty’s idea,” said one, “we are to go in the vans. 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. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him—Ennison himself remained standing. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. ” Ennison had things to say, but he looked at her and held his tongue.
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