You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. I don’t want to know. She could stow away, go to a place where there were no people to eat and end her life. 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. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of myself, or am I not?” “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not.
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