But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. 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. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. "Good Lord!—cannibals?" "Aye. Stanley lost patience. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back.
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