I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. ’ ‘But you managed to escape nevertheless,’ Gerald said calmly, ‘disguising yourself as a nun. And the woollen-draper departed. 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. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now.
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