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. Sir John hesitated. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty. He wanted to become a millionaire. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth.
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