“MATTHEW ARNOLD: Merope Lambis spoke very little on the way down through the ravine. He kept a short way ahead of me, reconnoitring with some caution at the corners, but most of the time we walked as fast as the roughness of the path would allow. We met nobody, and came in good time through the tangle of young oaks above the lemon groves. Already, through the boughs, I could see the white flanks of a windmill, and the gleam of sunlight on the open water of the stream. Lambis stopped in a patch o...f sunlight, and waited for me to catch up with him. Beside the path where he stood was a little wayside shrine. This was merely a wooden box, wedged somehow back among a pile of rocks, with primitive little oil lamps burning in front of a brightly coloured plaque of the Panaghia, the Virgin who is at once Mother of God, and the Mother herself, the ancient Goddess of the earth. A beer bottle, standing to one side, held oil for the lamps. Verbena grew near, and violets. Lambis gestured towards the lit lamps, and the small bunch of flowers that stood there in a rusty tin.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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