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. But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never.
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