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. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. “Our ways happened to lie together. “When are you going away?” He asked. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you.
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