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. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. The others hurried to the window. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him.
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