'Aren't you coming any farther? asked Paul.
'No, I've got to drive back to King's Thursday. Margot will be anxious to know how things have gone off.
Paul got into the boat and was rowed away. Sir Alastair, like Sir Bedivere, watched him out of sight.
CHAPTER VII Resurrection
Three weeks later Paul sat on the veranda of Margot's villa, with his evening apéritif before him, watching the sunset on the Albanian hills across the water change, with the crude brilliance of a German picture‑postcard, from green to violet. He looked at his watch, which had that morning arrived from England. It was half‑past six.
Below him in the harbour a ship had come in from Greece and was unloading her cargo. The little boats hung round her like flies, plying their trade of olive‑wood souvenirs and forged francs. There were two hours before dinner. Paul rose and descended the arcaded street into the square, drawing his scarf tight about his throat; the evenings began to get cold about this time. It was odd being dead. That morning Margot had sent him a bunch of Press cuttings about himself, most of them headed 'Wedding Sensation Echo' or 'Death of Society Bridegroom Convict'. With them were his tie‑pin and the rest of his possessions which had been sent to her from Egdon. He felt the need of the bustle at the cafés and the quayside to convince him fully of his existence. He stopped at a stall and bought some Turkish delight. It was odd being dead.
Suddenly he was aware of a familiar figure approaching him across the square.
'Hullo! said Paul.
'Hullol' said Otto Silenus. He was carrying on his shoulder a shapeless knapsack of canvas.
'Why don't you give that to one of the boys? They'll take it for a few drachmas.