" Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. "They shall not harm you, my love!" she exclaimed. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. 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.
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