It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. 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 voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her.
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