“Yes. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. ” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. 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.
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