He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. 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. The tables were then cleared. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. I’ve made up my mind. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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