But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. 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. Don't forget to cut out all effervescent water. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. 1.
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