"Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. 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. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. Wood's. I wish they would just get it over with. "Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs.
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