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 cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it. . . Sheppard. Wood started to his feet.
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