White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. 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. Oh God! pardon me. Before Michelle could go on, Lucy interjected, \"You must have quite a course-load with all those heavy books.
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