She moved a little nearer to him. ‘She’s still bleeding. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. 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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