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 aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. ’ What would you tell her?” “If she asked advice, I should say she wasn’t fit to do anything of the sort. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed.
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