Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. ’ The idiocy of it all irritated Melusine. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. He died in the war. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. ’ Melusine shrugged. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness.
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