She could not say a word, much less move. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. It was something you were supposed to return, so she raced through all the television shows that she had watched over the years. 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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