‘But after all,’ said Kate, ‘what about the twelve million poor—mostly Indians—whom Montes talks about? You can’t make them all rich, whatever you do. And they don’t understand the very words, capital and socialism. They are Mexico, really, and nobody ever looks at them, except to make a casus belli of them. Humanly, they never exist for you.’
‘Humanly they can’t exist, they are too ignorant!’ cried Garcia. ‘But when we can kill all the capitalists, then—’
‘You’ll find somebody killing you,’ said Kate. ‘No, I don’t like it. You aren’t Mexico. You aren’t even Mexican, really. You are just half Spaniards full of European ideas, and you care for asserting your own ideas and nothing else. You have no real bowels of compassion. You are no good.’
The young man listened with round eyes, going
