‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. 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. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. He moved to one side, bowing and gesturing to the door. "He left an envelope with some money in it. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage.
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