Lucy complied, slipping the tight jeans over her white underwear. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. Everything. 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. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out.
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