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. ‘And why have you not arrested him? Do not tell me you have allowed him to escape you. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.
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