This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. "I don't know; I really don't know. 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. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering.
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