His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. 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. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion.
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