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Fugitive in Greece...
He was moving slowly nearer, a ghost of a figure in the red immensity of that dune landscape, walking with slow uncertain steps ...
"Who sent you?" There was hostility, no sign of affection.
"I was worried about you."
A rasping sound came from his throat, a jeering laugh of disbelief.
'After eight years?" And then - "You're in trouble again. Is that it?'
I couldn't help it. I laughed, looking down at him squatting there, weak with hunger and half out of his mind, and thinking I'd come to him for help.
"Yes," I said. "I think I've killed a man."