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AGAMEMNON.
25
CHOROS.
But has there puffed thee up some unwinged omen?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
As a young maid's my mind thou mockest grossly.
CHOROS.
Well, at what time was—even sacked, the city?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Of this same mother Night—the dawn, I tell thee.
CHOROS.
And who of messengers could reach this swiftness?
