The tears flowed faster. ’ ‘You may not get the chance. ’ ‘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. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. It is bad policy. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. " "Very well. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child.
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