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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. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. I just wanted a breath of air.
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