He had no ideas about daughters. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. . I’ve never had these crying fits before. 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. Finally, at the exit into Regent’s Park, they ran against Miss Klegg.
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