If I’m late again I’ll have to serve another detention!” She excused herself, hoping it was not too obvious she was running away. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. 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. Like the flaws of an old marble. This she would not endure. . His name was Peter.
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