“I’m not in the mood right this instant. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. “Quite alone, sir. 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. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style.
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