He’s never seen anyone in such bad condition. “Follow me, please, Monsieur. I’ll take you someplace where they can give you some medical attention. You don’t have a returnee ID card?” The man thinks to himself that it’s been a long time since he had any kind of ID. Or any money. Or a wife, or a child, or hair, or teeth. He’s afraid of all these people, crowding around, staring at him.
