” Part 2 As Ann Veronica went back along the Avenue to her aunt she became aware of a light-footed pursuer running. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. 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.
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