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"
It
is
he
who
is
cold
.
"
He
was
putting
on
the
dry
pair
of
socks
and
the
whiskey
and
water
in
the
cup
tasted
clean
and
thinly
warming
.
But
it
does
not
curl
around
inside
of
you
the
way
the
absinthe
does
,
he
thought
.
There
is
nothing
like
absinthe
.
Who
would
imagine
they
would
have
whiskey
up
here
,
he
thought
.
But
La
Granja
was
the
most
likely
place
in
Spain
to
find
it
when
you
thought
it
over
.
Imagine
Sordo
getting
a
bottle
for
the
visiting
dynamiter
and
then
remembering
to
bring
it
down
and
leave
it
.
It
wasn
’
t
just
manners
that
they
had
.
Manners
would
have
been
producing
the
bottle
and
having
a
formal
drink
.
That
was
what
the
French
would
have
done
and
then
they
would
have
saved
what
was
left
for
another
occasion
.
No
,
the
true
thoughtfulness
of
thinking
the
visitor
would
like
it
and
then
bringing
it
down
for
him
to
enjoy
when
you
yourself
were
engaged
in
something
where
there
was
every
reason
to
think
of
no
one
else
but
yourself
and
of
nothing
but
the
matter
in
hand
—
that
was
Spanish
.
One
kind
of
Spanish
,
he
thought
.
Remembering
to
bring
the
whiskey
was
one
of
the
reasons
you
loved
these
people
.
Don
’
t
go
romanticizing
them
,
he
thought
.
There
are
as
many
sorts
of
Spanish
as
there
are
Americans
.
But
still
,
bringing
the
whiskey
was
very
handsome
.
"
How
do
you
like
it
?
"
he
asked
Anselmo
.
The
old
man
was
sitting
by
the
fire
with
a
smile
on
his
face
,
his
big
hands
holding
the
cup
.
He
shook
his
head
.
"
No
?
"
Robert
Jordan
asked
him
.
"
The
child
put
water
in
it
,
"
Anselmo
said
.
"
Exactly
as
Roberto
takes
it
,
"
Maria
said
.
"
Art
thou
something
special
?
"
"
No
,
"
Anselmo
told
her
.
"
Nothing
special
at
all
.
But
I
like
to
feel
it
burn
as
it
goes
down
.
"
"
Give
me
that
,
"
Robert
Jordan
told
the
girl
,
"
and
pour
him
some
of
that
which
burns
.
"
He
tipped
the
contents
of
the
cup
into
his
own
and
handed
it
back
empty
to
the
girl
,
who
poured
carefully
into
it
from
the
bottle
.
