It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. My dress, my person will be minutely described. 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. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.
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