Thank him, not me, man. 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. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper.
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