The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. 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. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. ’ ‘So that was it. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Lucy complied, slipping the tight jeans over her white underwear. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical.
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