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. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence.
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