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. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. I have to see if you carry any more weapons. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them.
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