’ ‘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. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. She leaned back as he climbed on top of her and kissed her mouth again. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. Acknowledge your faults. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. “You are absurd,” she declared. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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