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. All its better points were improved, while the less attractive ones (and they were few in comparison) were subdued, or removed. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. She despises one-piece swimsuits, she calls them ‘old hag bathing dresses’ no matter how low-cut they are. ‘No! Let me alone!’ ‘It is not safe!’ ‘That is entirely my affair, and not your affair in the least,’ she told him haughtily. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself.
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