But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. . Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs. ’ ‘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. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. If you want me, you know where to find me. Better to remain silent.
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