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. One has to train one’s self not to. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you.
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