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 then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. . “Well,” she said, “good-night, father.
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