There was plenty of sweet water. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. ’ The captain grasped her more firmly. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “I will go,” he said. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. 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. I love my husband. CHAPTER X. ’ ‘Ah yes.
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