The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. 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. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. His eyes closed. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. But it is all very different. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction.
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