But we get over it. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you. Give me your name, girl!’ ‘Again?’ Mademoiselle rolled her eyes. 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. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. She answered him almost coldly.
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