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. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. It was a huge stone placed there by some workmen occupied in repairing the structure. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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