"Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. But it was hopelessly hard to put. 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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