The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand.
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