‘Bête. 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 must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination.
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