In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. She was given a glimpse of his soul. 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. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. ‘I know just what he was doing. " "I will be there," answered Trenchard, gloomily. ” “Coffee! Bah!” The newcomer picked her way across the floor with daintily uplifted skirts, and subsided into a deck chair of stretched canvas.
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