When she renewed her attendance at the Imperial College the third finger of her left hand was adorned with a very fine old ring with dark blue sapphires that had once belonged to a great-aunt of Manning’s. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. She was the first to hear another car approaching from the street, an odd occurrence in an elementary school lot that had been abandoned for the weekend. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. ’ ‘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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