F.C. toast went singing through her head and she
flung it out into the moonlight, smiling--"Happy landings! Happy
landings, you!"
The next day was the one that brought to White Orchards what was to
be known for many moons as "the Big Storm." It had been gathering
all afternoon, and by evening the heat had grown appalling and
incredible, even to Janet's American and exigent standards. The
smouldering copper sky looked as though it had caught fire from the
world and would burn forever; there was not so much as a whisper of
air to break the stillness--it seemed as though the whole tortured
earth were holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
Every one had struggled through the day assuring one another that
when evening came it would be all right--dangling the alluring
thought of the cool darkness before each other's hot and weary eyes;
but the night proved even more outrageous than the day. To the
little group seated on the terrace, dispiritedly playing with their
coffee, it seemed almost a personal affront. The darkness closed in
on them, smothering, heavy, intolerable; they could feel its weight,
as though it were some hateful and tangible thing.
"Like--like black cotton wool," explained Rosemary, stirred to
unwonted resentment.
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