Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. ’ ‘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. Go to her. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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