‘Come, cry a truce. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. For the present the desire to fly was gone. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Intelligence was the currency in Athens, and anyone who displayed great knowledge ascended to the top, no matter what his former circumstances. ’ Gerald was relieved to hear the loud guffaw issuing from the old man’s lips. I’ll have it out with him.
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