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F. I
want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write
the word—your husband. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a
little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. This mitigated her remorse enormously. The
door opened, and a slightly overweight pretty blonde, an
older, wiser version of Michelle, came into view. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. 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 don’t want to hear you. Life! Life and love! It makes me
want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying
splendidly. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer
goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it.
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This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 03-07-2024 08:13:41