The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. Seeing her improved mood, he had offered the Latin reading lesson strategically, knowing it would surprise her that he considered her capable. "She wouldn't let me go. "You tried to do something that was fine, and … and civilization would not let you. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. 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. She floundered deep. “Hainault was Celeste’s friend, and Celeste was Annabel’s enemy,” Courtlaw said.
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