“Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know. He was really very bright and clever, with a sort of conversational boldness that was just within the limits of permissible daring. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. 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. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Now she was to be married to him and it horrified her. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. An immediate halt took place.
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