‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. But about the unknown Englishman she was not so satisfied. Kneebone. 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. Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape. Pearls too! I mean it.
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