Jonathan's vexation at the disappointment was expressed in the bitterest imprecations, and he returned as speedily as he could to the trench. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. ’ The breathy laugh came, and Madame Valade abandoned her fan. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. 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. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat.
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