Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. 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. “Yeah.
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