’ ‘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 clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. Jonathan Wild brought him off.
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