‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. ‘She knows them. ” She pressed her ear to the door. 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. . Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging.
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