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. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. S. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint.
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