‘What are you going to do now, child?’ Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. 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. When I learned you were married, I changed my plans. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed.
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