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’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. 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. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line.

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