She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. 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.
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