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Gerald shook his head. 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. But I
do not even care if I am absurd. It heralded you, promised
you. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. The summer arrived, speeding the
Plague and with it the famine in the streets. "
"Humph!" ejaculated the carpenter. "
"I'll see where these footsteps lead to," said Blueskin, holding the light to the
floor. com/E21or
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ragged Edge, by Harold MacGrath
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. ’ Lucilla frowned. ”
The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside and hesitated.
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