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. That’s Italians for you. ” At the sight of her tears his expression changed to a mingling of triumph and concern. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York.
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