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. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. ” “Call it what you like,” Anna answered. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge.
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