“We’ll see you at lunch?”
“No. I’m eating with him.”
We were standing under the arcade at the door of the hotel. They were carrying tables out and setting them up under the arcade.
“Want to take a turn out to the park?” Brett asked. “I don’t want to go up yet. I fancy he’s sleeping.”
We walked along past the theatre and out of the square and along through the barracks of the fair, moving with the crowd between the lines of booths. We came out on a cross-street that led to the Paseo de Sarasate. We could see the crowd walking there, all the fashionably dressed people. They were making the turn at the upper end of the park.
“Don’t let’s go there,” Brett said. “I don’t want staring at just now.”
We stood in the sunlight. It was hot and good after the rain and the clouds from the sea.
“I hope the wind goes down,” Brett said. “It’s very bad for him.”
“So do I.”
“He says the bulls are all right.”