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. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. Will you not remember what has passed between us? I have the right to take my place by your side. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility.
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