She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. There is the key. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. Her mind left her.
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