’ ‘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. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She pulled him towards the bed. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy.
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