’ ‘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. ‘Ah, grandpére. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. “I don’t know.
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