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. "Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. "Who've you got with you?" demanded the Amazon, boldly. \"Could you take off your shoes?\" Michelle asked.
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