He unlocked himself from her embrace. 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. McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered.
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