Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. ’ ‘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. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches.
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