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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. Both girls looked pale and listless. " Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat.
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