’ ‘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. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. “I have had adventures—oh, more than one, I can assure you. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail.
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