to make them intervene.
“I think the two reds together interesting,” said Owen.
“Do you really!” said Mrs Norris, automatically, paying no heed to such a remark.
The sky was blue overhead, but on the lower horizon was a thick, pearl haze. The clouds had gone.
“One never sees Popocatepetl nor Ixtaccihuatl,” said Kate, disappointed.
“No, not at this season. But look, through the trees there, you see Ajusco!”
Kate looked at the sombre-seeming mountain, between the huge dark trees.
On the low stone parapet were Aztec things, obsidian knives, grimacing squatting idols in black lava, and a queer thickish stone stick, or bâton. Owen was balancing the latter: it felt murderous even to touch.
Kate turned to the general, who was near her, his face expressionless, yet alert.
“Aztec things oppress