It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. There was a case, or something, some years ago. 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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