"What is all this, dear Winny?" inquired Thames, as soon as they were alone. 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. A hansom stopped a little way off. . We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. I’m a little tired. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly.
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