“Come on. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. You understand that term?” Ann Veronica smiled faintly. 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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