“Okay. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. 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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