” “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. 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. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. .
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