Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. 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 sensed that he was looking for her. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign.
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