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. We’ll make short work of them. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. He brightened as she took off her hood. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom.
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