“Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. 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. I wished to control the weather, to possess infinite wealth, and to understand the substances of the earth. “For men have reason, women rhyme A man scores always, all the time. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. "No matter how much I tell of myself, I shall always keep something back.
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