Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. 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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