He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. 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. Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes. She winked at him as he shut the door. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea.
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