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She covered herself with her arms. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it. They were true noblemen, men of the court. It is better as it is. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. 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 could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. "My old coco is disintegrating. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up.
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