The bull passed him and the sword shot up in the air, twinkling under the arc-lights, to fall red-hilted on the sand.

Heads up, swinging with the music, their right arms swinging free, they stepped out, crossing the sanded arena under the arc-lights, the cuadrillas opening out behind, the picadors riding after, behind came the bullring servants and the jingling mules.

The high, double, tight-fitting door into the bullring swung open and Manuel saw the ring in the hard light of the arc-lights, the plaza, dark all the way around, rising high; around the edge of the ring were running and bowing two men dressed like tramps, followed by a third in the uniform of a hotel bellboy who stooped and picked up the hats and canes thrown down onto the sand and tossed them back up into the darkness.