She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. 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. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. Take my advice.
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