The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. ” She lifted steadfast eyes to him. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. It is what I have done.
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