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. "They say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged. . ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood. " "It is," answered Wood. She walked back to the car.
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