She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. "My father!" she whispered. ’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. 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. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. It was dated from the House of Commons on the previous day. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement.
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