Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. 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. Me, you may have. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. It is nothing at all for you to worry about.
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