“You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. 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. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her.
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