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. They will guess that I am English. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. "Good work.
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