"Does hector prima live around here?" My host's expression went cool. He was a middle-aged man with a wide face and shoulders and pale stubble on his cheeks and chin that held the promise of a lush beard. In the four hours I'd spent in his home since the evacuated rail from Nove Mesto had deposited me in Sagrado, he'd been nothing but jovial and expansive. His warmth and his pleasure in having a guest had lulled me into feeling safe.
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