’ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea, he were,’ agreed Pottiswick’s daughter. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. 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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