It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. ’ ‘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. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. " "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily.
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