“Quite. Hence patron saint of the blind. She’s usually depicted like this, carrying her eyes on a platter.” Clarissa turned the postcard over. Her lips moved silently as she read the lines in Greek under her breath. “Well,” she said, “this time, it’s from Iphigenia in Aulis, by Euripides.” “What does it say?” “It’s about Iphigenia being led to her death.” Clarissa took a gulp of wine, and translated it: “‘Behold the maiden … with garlands in her hair, and holy water sprinkled upon her … walking to the sacrificial altar of the unspeakable goddess—which will flow with blood’—‘αἱματορρύτοις’ is
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