"Who's there?" cried Rachel. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at
tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they
sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of
the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor
of tobacco. I freely forgive you. I can’t imagine
Londoners—particularly interested in me. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on
one side. 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. Even
the abstract paintings on the wall were gray.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi4xODIuMTU2IC0gMjEtMDctMjAyNCAxMToyMToyOSAtIDEzMzA3NDM1Ng==
This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 18-07-2024 17:15:55