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. The sun shined weakly through brief pinpricks 90 in the thick cloud cover, the weather was brewing a storm. He talked very little and rather absently. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with.
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