Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. E. 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'd do anything for Thames Darrell. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression.
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