“There’s no one here except me. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. I think she might be up to something. 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. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. ” She replied. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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