” She said with a smile. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. 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. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery.
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