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"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. Manning?” said her aunt. 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. “Hainault, Celeste’s friend. Ennison reeled, and almost fell. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase. “Bring any new songs you may have. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 16:32:23