Ice had begun to form in the shallows. 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 grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar.
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