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. Old saltwater was right. ” The lady stood away from the door. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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