‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. Still, one has to be reasonable. I want to know—just as much as I can. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. 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. Gerald’s voice came back to her, saying that she could not hope to outwit “a man who means business”.
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