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 lived, he noted, very carelessly. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence of indignation that had put terror into her heart. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward.
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