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. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. . “Compromise—and kindness. ” She was altogether hysterical now.
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