’ ‘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. "Spring!—I never knew any. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience.
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