’ ‘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. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief.
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