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. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. "You won't listen to this nonsense, Sir Rowland!" "If you are innocent, boy," said the knight, controlling his emotion; "you have nothing to apprehend.
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