" "So I perceive," said Ruth, withdrawing her hands. 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. The doorman replied, tipping his cap, “I don’t speak much Italian these days, not since my mother died.
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