I
On a very hot morning in May, at the corner of the Hotel de la Grande
Bretagne, in the Square of the Constitution, in Athens, a dirty little
boy with a sheaf of unsold newspapers under his arm was sitting on
a shoeblack's box, alternately munching a piece of bread and wiping
his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
Another boy, not so dirty, stood beside him, with one foot on the
edge of the box, watching the people in the square. He was fair for
a Greek boy, with light hair which showed through the many holes of
his cloth cap.