. ” She turned a firelit face to her husband. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. ‘No doubt accompanied by the latest crim con tales. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. Lucy's ears were singing. She could not feel her own body. 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 shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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