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. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. The swelling in his limbs had also subsided.
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