Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. He did not move. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. The noise was raucous.
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