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the stony ground where the road lay. It was a bright, clear evening in the month Boedromion. The wind was dying away; but every time104 a faint breeze swept by it bore a peculiar spicy odor from the wild thyme that grew on Mt. Hymettus. The crescent moon was high in the heavens. The

Acropolis, with the temple on its summit, appeared like a huge, shadowy mass, against which the greyish flanks of the Museium lay bathed in moon

light, so that one could count the little white houses. Suddenly from the distance a loud shriek of pain echoed through the evening stillness and repose. A man’s deep voi

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ce moaned as if some one were suffering a torturing death-agony. More than twent

y times the: Oi moi! Oi moi! (Woe is me! Woe is me!) was repeated. Every syllable, every intonation was borne through the soft air with peculiar distinctness. A little later the sound became fainter till

at last it died away in a dull, breathless silence. Hipyllos started, though he had heard piteous wails in this place before. The cries ca

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me from a part of the height where there were no houses. T

he interior of the cliff was doubtless inhabited, for about twenty

yards above the place where the road wound light shone through twenty or thirty small holes in the mass of rock. These holes, ranged in two rows, may be seen at the present