It must be the dawn creeping in. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. Meanwhile, the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his escape to Newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the destruction of his premises. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. Cathy reached out and touched Lucy’s chin with her two fingers, gently commanding her attention. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. 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. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating.
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