“Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. 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. . And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. He was mad. “And where are YOU going?” he said. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered.
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