‘How is your plan now, mon brave?’ Melusine taunted. ” She laughed. She’s already spoken for. ’ ‘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. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries.
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