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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. But she made no answer. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. CHAPTER IV. ” “Yes. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. She has been a dear.
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