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 clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. That is not reasonable.
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