There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive. Yet you knew that I was not dead. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. 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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