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. Many knew Diane’s disdain for the Beck family as well, “who would take in any stray that arrived mewling at their doorstep. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. That is good. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment.
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