It’s no good hiding it any more. In the struggle her cap fell off. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. He was an imaginative young man. I wouldn’t recommend doing anything. She could not help herself.
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