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. . It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. Walpole's order to that effect—but not before. Please don’t let any one know that. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son.
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