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. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. What were your findings?” Lucy asked.
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