He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. Then she reverted to the trousers. Here again instinct guided her. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. Thought she was a nun at first. 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 felt his tongue press into her mouth. All the village was assembled in the churchyard.
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