You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. 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.
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