“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. ’ ‘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. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror.
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