Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. “Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley.
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