’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. But come in, dear. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. 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. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested.
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