’ ‘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. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. " "Dear sister——" "I should die happy, if I could behold my child. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight.
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