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Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. “I murder people, John. You are my wife, and I am determined to claim you. Milice,’ Gerald translated. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. ’ To his intense satisfaction, mademoiselle burst into laughter.
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