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. "By all means," rejoined Quilt. \"Thanks. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. ” He frowned. In an instant, she turned on him.
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