Return to him, I say—" "I can't," replied Jack, doggedly. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. “I did it for love of you,” he said. 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. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. She entered the last room, his bedroom. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person.
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