‘And that Suzanne, the sister of my cousin the vicomte, must choose between Monsieur Charvill and her brother. She was furiously angry. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. 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. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. C below.
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