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. I'm sure she'll let me go, though. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him.
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