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 admitted her pleasure to Ramage. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. ‘But you will not be in a convent. before them soldiers.
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