She left them and went back to Sebastian, never uttering a word about her visit. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly. 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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