” He ruminated for a minute. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. Sheppard, who seemed to be crouching upon the floor. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention.
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