The Hunger After You’re Fed: Who Is Héctor Prima?

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 Nové MÄ›sto 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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