Today things would end well; tomorrow, not so much... Singing, guitar playing... José Izquierdo—whom they called *Platón* because he ate out of a plate the size of a washbasin—would toss pebbles at the picador... Villalonga and I would egg them on to fight, or reconcile them, whenever it suited us... 'Mopsy' would tremble at the sight of them in high spirits, just as she did when she saw them sulking... Do you know what crossed my mind?