And they pay her. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. 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 would end this sham with Manning.
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