Vorsack would just have to live with it. Or else he was indeed obsessed. So he shut his eyes. 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. “Wonderful!” “I have always longed for prison service,” said a voice, “always. He laughed. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet.
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