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. “Is that plain?” she asked. You must wait till supper's over. "But, let me tell you, it's not a pleasant sight to see the girl one likes in the arms of another. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings.
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