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. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. I’m like a creature just wakened up. He's coming. I don't think. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair.
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