’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. We are not animals. 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. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile. He moaned in excitement as his lips wrapped around the peak of her right breast.
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