"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. ’ Melusine’s voice petered out. 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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