What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. That’s— that’s my private life. The true creative mind is always returning to battle; defeats are only temporary setbacks. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. 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. If you fall upon a good pearl, buy it in barter and pay me out of your salary. “No!” he said aloud at last.
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