It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. “Let me know the truth. ” She replied. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. 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. \"What's your number?\" Michelle asked Lucy.
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