Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. 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. I didn’t believe him and I said so. I’ll take over here. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell.
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