"Please, Hoddy, always tell me when do I things wrong. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. I’ve had it, Sheila. She turned there and beckoned. 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. ” “Why not?” She turned on him. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both.
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