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. She entered and approached the bunk. Not a word passed between them. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. Profligate women are never reclaimed.
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