Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. It is not the woman who speaks there. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. His throat filled; he wanted to weep.
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