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His words sounded like a lament; he stared angrily at the pile of clay which had crudely begun to assume the outlines of Rhanto's form. "If you only knew how I had to urge her before she would consent to show the divine nudity of her body. Do not think it strange. She comes of a race of barbarians.
Actæon did indeed cherish them in his memory. He still retained the impression caused by the vision of the lovely shepherdess, and at the same moment his eyes searched the tattered tunic, seeking with an artist's delight the warm tones of her amber skin. But Rhanto's mind, after evoking these recollections, began again to wander. Where was Erotion? Had Actæon seen him?
When we are hungry we milk Rhanto's goats and we rob a beehive; we climb trees in search of fruit; this is the glorious season of the year; the whole champaign is full of cherries." He suddenly ceased speaking, fearing lest he had said too much. Perhaps Rhanto reproved him with a nudge. Then he added, in a supplicating tone: "You are good, Athenian.
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