“Good evening, Dorling,” 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. Wood turned to look at him. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. “You will not even answer my letters. There must be ways of getting rid of him. I could resist the tempter now, I am strong in health,—in mind. "Don't fire," cried the latter. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried. She tore open the envelope and read it. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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