The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. . 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. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. “Of course I will,” he answered.
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