"Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. 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. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. He had barely said, \"Anytime,\" before she shut the door rather rudely in his face.
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