A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. 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. "She wouldn't let me go. . You are not a tourist seeking adventure. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. She sensed that he was looking for her.
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