I hate myself!” She
collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. Now how in the world was he to get rid of
the husband?
His luck was in. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?”
note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively,
“How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old
professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann
Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. Now what I want you to
feel is this. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. 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.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 16-07-2024 18:52:03