Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. 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. One of the reasons why I left Paris and came to London was because there was a man there who wanted me to marry him.
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