He looked no longer at his wife. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. 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. "There!" cried Mrs. \"This is my best friend, Mark.
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