"Thanks. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. He trembled violently. 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. ‘I have no idea.
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