That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. 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. Horrid!’ ‘Yes, but it has been extremely useful for me,’ argued Melusine, ‘so that I am very much pleased with this passage.
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