He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. He would have to probe further. 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. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. He started toward the dog with the idea of ejecting him, but Ruth intervened. Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits. ” “And yet,” he murmured, “one of the greatest of our writers has declared that the true spirit of Bohemianism is denied to your sex. She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence. He’ll do.
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