“Lucy, that’s horrible. The moral right of the author has been asserted. You shall not take me alive. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. ’ ‘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.
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