” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. 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.
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