” “It’s impossible. 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. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question.
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