And here he was, with his hand on my sleeve.
He repeated his words in a whisper. "George, who was that?"
Slowly I turned. "It is you?"
"Yes."
"How did you know I was here?"
"I saw your name in the Visitors' List."
"Tell me what I can do for you."
He fell a little back. "George," he faltered, "why this tone?"
I refused to admit at once that I was ashamed. "We can't stop talking here," I said. "Where are you staying?"
"Out at St Briac."