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. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. I am sure. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat.
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