‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. 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. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug.
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