“All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. Martin’s parents looked at each other in embarrassed, silent communication. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. 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. E. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her.
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