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anything from them. Now I see that the Ath enian la

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ds are no brighter than our own.” Paeg nion fel

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t a little nettled. “I could answer yo u, if I
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lver coins in a box and sh

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owing them to Paegnion, “here are twelve triobols.” The lad gazed cov

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etously at the glittering coins. “Twelve triobols,” he repeated with

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a crafty smile, “and I am fifteen years old.” “You shall have three

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more. But make haste, somebody might come. What did your master say?”

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Paegnion looked around him. “On the way here,” he whispered, advancing close to the wall, “my master rode for a time

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something,” P

nt after a fold of the curtain was raised and, if Paegnion had had eyes for it, he might have seen a beautiful white arm bared to the shoulder, but the lad was more intent upon obols than arms. At this moment the back door of the garden creaked on its rusty hinges, and Paegnion ran with all his might to the little guest-room at t

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he corner of the house, which had been assigned to him and his master. When Lycon—for it was he—was crossing the small courtyard on the way to the guest-room he saw that the household slaves, half a score in all, had assembled there. Some were carrying hay from a large cart into a barn, others were pouring water over the rude w

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heels, consisting of round wooden disks, to cleanse them from lumps of clay, and others were standing idle in the shade. But, whether busy or not, there was an air of malevolence about them and not one uttered a word. The prospect of forced labor in the Laurium mines rested like a dark cloud on every face. The big swine-herd, Con

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ops, held in his hand a bu

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of a mule. 254 Lycon passed quietly on to the guest-room, where he called to Conops in a curt, authoritative tone: “Open the


door. You see I am carrying something under my

cloak.” The huge fellow did not stir. L