The eyeless wretch was squatting there, begging in the streets, his supplicating bowl held over his bowed head. I stopped and let my shadow fall over him. “Do you know me?” I asked. I could hear him sniffing. “You’ve traveled far,” he began. “The salt-spray still clings to you.” Sniff. “And the sweetness of wine. … Continue reading Short Story: Redeeming the Beggar