And when she took and married that Mr Charvill, we didn’t think to see her at Remenham House no more. 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. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. . ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. ” “You did not notice anything which may have escaped this lady? You saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Brendon answered. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. Not these twenty year. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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