She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. I want to boast myself. 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. " "Damnation!" cried Jonathan, stamping his foot with uncontrollable rage. For if Gerald had indeed gone to see this Prudence, it was better to wait for his report. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good.
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