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. I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. . “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris.
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