They found Ramón sitting in his white clothes in a long chair on the terrace. He was creamy-brown in his pallor.
He saw at once the change in Kate. She had the face of one waking from the dead, curiously dipped in death, with a tenderness far more new and vulnerable than a child’s. He glanced at Cipriano. Cipriano’s face seemed darker than usual, with that secret hauteur and aloofness of the savage. He knew it well.
“Are you better?” Kate asked.
“Very nearly!” he said, looking up at her gently. “And you?”
“Yes, I am all right.”
“You are?”
“Yes, I think so.—I have felt myself all lost, since that day. Spiritually, I mean. Otherwise I am all right. Are you healing well?”
“Oh, yes! I always heal quickly.”
“Knives and bullets are horrible things.”
“Yes—in the wrong place.”