“Quite. And the funny thing is I think I was tight.”
“Come on,” Brett said. “Are these poisonous things paid for? I must bathe before dinner.”
We walked across the square. It was dark and all around the square were the lights from the cafés under the arcades. We walked across the gravel under the trees to the hotel.
They went up-stairs and I stopped to speak with Montoya.
“Well, how did you like the bulls?” he asked.
“Good. They were nice bulls.”
“They’re all right”—Montoya shook his head—“but they’re not too good.”
“What didn’t you like about them?”
“I don’t know. They just didn’t give me the feeling that they were so good.”
“I know what you mean.”