He was silent for some moments. Then he said:
“Perhaps there is in you something European, which hurts our Mexican Moon.”
“But I come in good faith.”
“European good faith. Perhaps it is not the same as Mexican.”
Kate was silent, almost stunned.
“Fancy your Mexican moon objecting to me!” she laughed ironically.
“Fancy your objecting to our Mexican moon!” said he.
“I wasn’t,” said she.
They came to the corner of Kate’s road. At the corner was a group of trees, and under the trees, behind the hedge, several reed huts. Kate often laughed at the donkey looking over the dry-stone low wall, and at the black sheep with curved horns, tied to a bitten tree, and at the lad, naked but for a bit of a shirt, fleeing into the corner under the thorn screen.
Kate and Cipriano sat on the verandah of the House of the Cuentas. She offered him vermouth, but he refused.