Manuel showed his surprise. He said good night rather stiffly. He felt somehow that she had insulted him.
The two of them walked out into the bustle of the street. He noticed that she was just a little drunk; it gave him hope.
“Let me come back with you,” he said, “I have a lot to say to you.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She sounded very final.
He raised his hand to signal a cab.
“No,” she said, “I’m much too tired. We’ll walk.”
THE GENERAL DIES IN BED
It all happened so quickly he hadn’t any chance of making plans. They had come to him and offered him three hundred dollars to give Pedro de Babar the heat. Three hundred dollars! They were crazy! Well, he’d got them up to five hundred and there they stuck. When he found they wouldn’t give any more, he agreed. He knew once he had given it to de Babar he’d have to get out of Cuba. That didn’t worry him. He was sick of Cuba, anyway.
In the afternoon he went up to de Babar’s bungalow with the intention of having a look round. It was a nice place, fitting for a General of the Cuban War Department to live in.
The big garden that surrounded the one-storied building flamed with colours. Palm trees bent graceful heads against the blue of the sky. The place was so nice that the boy was violently envious. He would have liked to have been a devastating god with powers to destroy by a wave of his hand.