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 could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. "I have nothing to forgive. CHAPTER XXVI. org. “I will believe you.
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