” She stirred gently in her chair. . . The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. The note-passer lagged behind with her. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. 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. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays.
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