Then a roar of hisses. Still —there you are!” He paused. “Lucy, that’s horrible. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. Both started. “I love some one else.
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