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 had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads.
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