"I'll make a carry," thought Flavilla, beaching her canoe. Then, looking
around her at the lonely stretch of sand flanked by woods, she realized
at once that she need seek no farther for seclusion.
First of all, she dragged the canoe into the woods, then rapidly
undressed and drew on the mermaid's scaly suit, which fitted her to the
throat as beautifully as her own skin.
It was rather difficult for her to navigate on land, as her legs were
incased in a fish's tail, but, seizing her comb and mirror, she managed
to wriggle down to the water's edge.
A few sun-warmed rocks jutted up some little distance from shore; with a
final and vigorous wriggle Flavilla launched herself and struck out for
the rocks, holding comb and mirror in either hand.
Fishtail and accessories impeded her, but she was the sort of swimmer who
took no account of such trifles; and after a while she drew herself up
from the sea, and, breathless, glittering, iridescent, flopped down upon
a flat rock in the sunshine. From which she took a careful survey of the
surroundings.
Certainly nobody could see her here. Nobody would interrupt her either,
because the route of navigation lay far outside, to the north. All around
were woods; the place was almost landlocked, save where, far away through
the estuary, a blue and hazy horizon glimmered in the general direction
of New England.
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