” She laughed softly to herself. 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. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. All I had to do was to piece them together. She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs.
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