The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. 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. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. She wedged the towel between her legs. ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. "By the way," said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room of the Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over.
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