“I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He had forgiven everybody. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me.
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