One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ’ Tears sprang to Melusine’s own eyes, and she clasped the hand she held more tightly. 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. The Night-Cellar. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. ” “At any rate,” she declared, “your remarks decided me.
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