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. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. However, come along. His head bent down, intent on kissing her underneath the showerhead. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. “Anna of course would not accept any money from us,” she continued. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. She could not say who, not yet.
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