The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. ’ ‘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. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. ” Ennison turned round sharply. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever.
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