They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. 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 would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. Turning, she flew for the nearest door.
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