“Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. 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. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder.
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