“Hermogenes stumbled through it doggedly, one arm over Menestor’s shoulders, leaning on the boy heavily and gritting his teeth every time his weight came down on his right ankle. The narrow back streets were uneven, often unpaved, full of potholes and littered with rubbish, so that he stumbled often. He kept listening for the sound of footsteps behind them, but the only ones he heard belonged to the woman, and she walked quietly, with a steady tread. “Who were they?” she asked abruptly, after th...e first crossroads. “They weren’t robbers.” He gave a sobbing laugh. “They were from a man who owes me money.” “Huh. So why do they want to question you?” He didn’t answer at once, and she persisted, “You said they wanted to question you. I saw how they wanted you alive. I want to know who I killed, rich man.” “My name is Hermogenes.” “What is that? Greek?” “Yes. Those men … I have some documents which prove my right to collect a debt. They wanted to know where I put them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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