’ ‘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. It might be dangerous to thwart him. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. CHAPTER XXIX.
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