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 added extra chocolate powder to disguise the bitterness of the pill. But let that verse tell my secret. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up.
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