‘She may well try to go back. ‘That is not your affair. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. We've got to get him to care. 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.
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