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. Sheila was finishing her laughter as Lucy brought an elbow down on the back of her head, expertly snapping the vertebra that connected Sheila’s head to her shoulders. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. “Why not?” he exclaimed. Then blackness. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril.
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