He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. But eventually Spurlock laughed. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. ’ ‘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. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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