He's going to ask you to Prom. 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. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. "Was there any other woman back there in the States?" "Nary a female. You are the High Priestess of Life. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis.
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