She began to want to lay her head down on his chest but absolutely denied herself. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. 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. Are you doing okay in that shirt? You seem uncomfortable. I’m glad I did. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. “Go it, miss!” cried one. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces.
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