“Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?” Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. She kissed him with a closed mouth, not as recklessly as she was tempted to do. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. Chapter VII MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS “Anna!” Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional 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. He drew a little breath and stepped back. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. A pig, yes, a little. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. Don't feel fussed upon my account. She cried and sobbed in fits. "He stands before you," rejoined her son. Mr.
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