. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Mr. 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.
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