“I shall leave the flat to you and go to a hotel. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. 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. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time.
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