She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. Suddenly she became aware of the fact that he had brought no lunch. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. “I ate their mother first. ” Her heart leaped within her as she caught that phrase. 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. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly.
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