When she did, her knees buckled and she stumbled to a chair. His hair was dark and waxed flat to his skull, the sideburns unnaturally long and braided, hanging to his shoulders.
The woman was curled on her side, arms shielding her naked breasts, as if even in death she was modest. Even disregarding their common experiences since their accidental meeting in athens, the timeless days that they had spent together this last week had not been enough for him to see through the real anastasia.