Brown. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’ ‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly. 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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