" He shook his head. He seemed to be trying to understand something very perplexing and elusive. "And so shall I," replied Edgeworth Bess. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. 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.
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