‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. 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. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her.
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