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Cary. Gibson Mr McKissick? Oh! Drew a long breath, flung himself into the shallows, and began a stiff armed batting of the mediterranean. Obviously intended to suggest a crawl. His breath exhausted. He arose and looked around with an expression of surprise that he was still in sight of shore. I haven't learned to breathe yet. I never quite understood how they breathed. He looked at rosemary, enquiring lee. I think you breathe out underwater, she explained, and every fourth beat. You roll your head over for air. The breathing is the hardest part for me. Shall we go to the raft? The man with the leonine head lay stretched out upon the raft, which tipped back and forth with the motion of the water as Mrs May kisco reached for it. A sudden tilt struck her arm up roughly, whereupon the man started up and pulled her on board. I was afraid it hit you. His voice was slow and shy. He had one of the saddest faces rosemary had ever seen, the high cheekbones of an indian. A long upper lip, an enormous, deep set, dark golden eyes! He had spoken out of the side of his mouth as if he hoped his words would reach Mrs May kisco biosecurity this and unobtrusive route. In a minute he had shoved off into the water, and his long body lay motionless towards shore, Rosemary and mrs B. Kisco watched him when he had exhausted his momentum he abruptly bent double. His thin thighs rose above the surface, and he disappeared totally, leaving scarcely a fleck of foam behind. He's a good swimmer, Rosemary said Mrs McKay. Isco's answer came with surprising violence. Well, he's a rotten musician. She turned to her husband, who, after two unsuccessful attempts, had managed to climb on the raft and having attained his balance, was trying to make some kind of compensatory flourish, achieving only an extra stagger. I was just saying that Abe North. Maybe a good swimmer. But he's a rotten musician. Yes, agreed my kisco, grudgingly. Obviously he had created his wife's world and allowed her few liberties in it and steals my man Mrs McKissick. Oh! Turned challenging lee to rosemary and feel and Joyce. I don't suppose you ever hear much about those sort of people in Hollywood. But my husband wrote the first criticism of ulysses that ever appeared in America. I wish I had a cigarette, said my kisco calmly. That's more important to me just now. He's got inside. Don't you think so? Albert? Her voice faded off. Suddenly The woman of the pearls had joined her two Children in the water. And now Abe North came up under one of them like a volcanic island, raising him on his shoulders. The child yelled with fear and delight. And the woman watched with a lovely piece without a smile. Is that his wife Rosemary asked. No, that's mrs diver. They're not at the hotel. Her eyes photographic. Did not move from the woman's face After a moment she turned vehemently to rosemary. Have you been abroad before. Yes, I went to school in paris. Oh, well, then you probably know that if you want to enjoy yourself here. The thing is to get to know some real french families. What do these people get out of it? She pointed her left shoulder toward the shore. They to stick around with each other in little creeks. Of course we had letters of introduction and met all the best french artists and writers in paris that made it very nice. I should think so. My husband is finishing his first novel. You see, Rosemary said, Oh, he is! She was not thinking anything special except wondering whether her mother had got to sleep in this heat. It's on the idea of Ulysses, continued mrs May Kisco, only instead of taking 24 hours. My husband takes 100 years. He takes a decade old French aristocrat, and puts him in contrast with the mechanical age. Oh, for God's sake! Violet don't go telling everybody! The idea! Protested. Mikis Co I don't want it to get all around. Before the books published, Rosemary swam back to the shore, where she, through her pain noir over her already sore shoulders and lay down again in the sun. The man with the jockey cap was now going from umbrella to umbrella, carrying a bottle and little glasses in his hands. Presently he and his friends grew livelier and closer together. And now they were all under a single assemblage of umbrellas. She gathered that someone was leaving and that this was a last drink on the beach. Even the Children knew that excitement was generating under that umbrella and turned toward it, and it seemed to rosemary that it all came from the man in the jockey cap. Yeah.