The man lingered. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay. “Feel better. “So you found Rhea, I see.
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