‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. 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. Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. Spare me, and I'll be quiet—quiet —quiet!" "Mother!" said Jack, advancing towards her.
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