Annabel laughed a little uneasily. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. “Have you any money?” “Lots,” Anna answered laconically. A nod was exchanged. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself.
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