S. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them.
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