Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. ’ ‘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. But it is my fault. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. She stabbed him with her canines.
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