In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. “Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. It doesn’t seem to matter. 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. Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. It is very bad. good at that.
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