So, the storm following us has had to give up its water to cross the Adriatic. Did this mean it would give up? No. Of course not. So the second day after we arrived in Athens, the wind blows up - sunshades wrench at their moorings, and up on the Acropolis, unimpeded by the buildings below, the wind howls through the ruins of temples and ancient monuments, driving stinging dust and a steady stream of dislodged sun-hats before it. And nothing catches dust like sun-creamed legs. The overall effect, however, was very impressive. The feeling of an abandoned, spirit-haunted, ancient place was inescapable, even through the omnipresent crowds of chattering tourists. The they were all below the notice of the columns towering over them, and beyond the statues impassive, blankly eternal gaze. This was a place
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