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. Get you gone. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. ’ Gerald came into the room as he spoke, his eyes on the stormclouds rapidly gathering in Melusine’s face.
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