“One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. 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. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. I wish nothing at all from them. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica.
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