“He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. 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 had had two days of employment-seeking now. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. But not so much a pig as that man. That old world that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it. I’m glad 237 you came over.
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