She paused. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. I demand it as a right. 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. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. "I had to give in to him.
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