It was the Sunday after Easter, and the last bull-fight of the season in Mexico City. Four special bulls had been brought over from Spain for the occasion, since Spanish bulls are more fiery than Mexican. Perhaps it is the altitude, perhaps just the spirit of the western Continent which is to blame for the lack of “pep,” as Owen put it, in the native animal.
Although Owen, who was a great socialist, disapproved of bull-fights, “We have never seen one. We shall have to go,” he said.
“Oh yes, I think we must see it,” said Kate.
“And it’s our last chance,” said Owen.
Away he rushed to the place where they sold tickets, to book seats, and Kate went with him. As she came into the street, her heart sank. It was as if some little person inside her