That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. ” She whispered. . ’ ‘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. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. “I know nothing about your wife. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. ‘What a catalogue. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out.
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