He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. Howard Spurlock.
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