Girls screamed in chorus. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled. 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. But she must not laugh.
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