’ She released the pistol which lay in her lap and gestured expressively with her hands. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. 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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