Lights were on and Michelle’s mother was up, occasionally pacing as Michelle and Lucy had been gone for over two hours. For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she did not know how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. I sent a message straight. 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. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. Earles was absolutely indifferent.
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