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. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. ‘Not where we’re going. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind.
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