She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. To return. " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred. 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 I'll take care of her bill, if worst comes to worst. . . EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703.
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