’ ‘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. I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. Kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. His eyes were closed. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois.
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