’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. 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. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. But this chap is good wine yet. "You're mistaken, Winny.
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