I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. ’ ‘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. And all the third act is love-sick music. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar.
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