Wood started to his feet. 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. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. ’ ‘Sir!’ called Trodger, as the captain began to lead the young lady off. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Lucy was charmed; how peaceful the baby looked.
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