The green was pressing against his eyes like cool cucumber slices, the moist air was making his skin tingle awake like the desert after rain, and the English voices were like a song of long ago in his ears.

“Glad to be back home then, mate?” asked the taxi driver, hearing his accent.

 Giles glanced around at familiar shops. “Good to be back in England, yes,” he said diplomatically.

But it wasn’t home anymore. There wasn’t a single person here whom he loved. Home is where the heart is and Giles had left something behind besides his toothbrush.

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