Wild is sure to be up. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. 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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