’ ‘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. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather.
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