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. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. CHAPTER XXIV. ” The man hesitated. ” There was silence between them. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory.
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