’ ‘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. One would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Never be downhearted.
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