To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night. ” “Right!” he answered. And then her pace slackened. "Be it as you please," replied Winifred. Adieu! my charmer. 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. Anyone would be intrigued.
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