’ ‘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. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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