It isn’t illusions—for us. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. . ’ ‘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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