“Oh, damn!” he said. Melusine ran up the stairway after him, her point flailing to frighten him into allowing her access to the chapel. ’ ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. 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. Meysey Hill—never your wife.
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