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. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. The blaze, however, was sufficient to reveal to the thief-taker the features of his intended assassin.
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