It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. 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. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. "Thus," replied the prize-fighter. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr.
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