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” The man smiled at him. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. 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 looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. It was a mad half-hour. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. org/1/6/2/1/16215/ Produced by Jason Isbell, Ben Beasley and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.
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