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I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. This woman knows me—’ throwing the remark at Lucilla ‘—and that I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. After that consolations fled. ” She smiled at him. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. ” An awkward moment of silence followed. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. 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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