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. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me.
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