Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. There was no rush. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. 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.
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