“Sir John!” Annabel gasped. She relented out of exhaustion, yet he would not let her near Marina, his embrace tightening. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. ’ ‘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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