The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies.
“It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig,” the man said. “It’s not really an operation at all.”
He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train.