The sjy was cloudless-the hard, perpect blue of a summer painting. A breeze whispered through the roses in the garden. Mountains were isted by distance. A scent-flowers, sea, new grass-drifted on the air. With a sigh of pure pleasure, Morgan leaned farther over the balcont rail and just looked. Had it really only been yesterday morning that she had looked out on New York’s steel and concrete? had she run trough a chill April drizzle to catch a taxi to he airport? One day. It seemed impossible to go from one world to another in only a day. But she was here, standing on ghe balcony of a villa on the Isle of Lesbos. There was no gray drizzle at all, but strong Greek sunlight. [download]
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