An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. ’ ‘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. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father.
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