She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. ‘For that I shall certainly not leave until you have told me every tiny detail. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. I must tell somebody—and you would understand.
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