She hated living like that. 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 came into the room. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him.
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