B. ’ ‘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. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. Thank him, not me, man.
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