’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. 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. Maggot. One gets drawn into things. " So saying, he closed the lantern. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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