There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. 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. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. " "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. I hope you won’t mind if I say first that I think it does me an extraordinary honor that you should think of any one like myself so highly and seriously, and, secondly, that I wish it had not been written. At second hand it would be unendurable.
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