“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. Everybody talking of you. ’ ‘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.
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