She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away. 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. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment.
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