’ ‘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 strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. . . She came to her one day and pulled on her apron.
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