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. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. It hit her just above the knee.
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