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. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. “He broke up with Katy Pfister last night on the phone, from what I hear. For a nun at night it is less dangerous than for the jeune demoiselle.
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