Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. After all, she found herself reflecting, behind her aunt’s complacent visage there was a past as lurid as any one’s—not, of course, her aunt’s own personal past, which was apparently just that curate and almost incredibly jejune, but an ancestral past with all sorts of scandalous things in it: fire and slaughterings, exogamy, marriage by capture, corroborees, cannibalism! Ancestresses with perhaps dim anticipatory likenesses to her aunt, their hair less neatly done, no doubt, their manners and gestures as yet undisciplined, but still ancestresses in the direct line, must have danced through a brief and stirring life in the woady buff. You, for instance, you live, you are not afraid to live. “Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot.
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