‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. Anna’s face however was wholly impassive. Its importance had vanished with her abandonment of compromise. 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. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack. She might even forgive him. And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. In a second the glass lay shattered upon the carpet.
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