’ ‘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 it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. He tried to make love to me. Whoever answers them must assist me to capture your son. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. A wedding procession turned the corner.
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