A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. 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. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. It was neither good nor bad. She took a few of his things before she scanned the area. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said.
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