But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. 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 wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. At once there came an answering knock. It is dull—deadly dull. " "But I never told you how the natives fished. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered.
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