“We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. 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.
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