She recoiled. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. 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. The Rev. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said.
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