At the very instant their figures had just vanished, another motorcade drove in from afar, passed through the dappled sunlight beneath the trees of the square, moved along a passage lined on both sides with crowds waving placards, and stopped at the entrance to the voting hall.
This time the one who stepped out of the car was Perez, temples slightly graying, a square face, carrying the air of a composed, mature man.
The appearance of Perez and his wife likewise drew forth wave upon wave of thunderous cheers. Compared with Dawson, this seasoned, steady old-line politician's supporters were not much fewer.
Especially for many older people, Perez better matched the image of a President in their hearts.
Once again there was a flurry of camera shutters, once again the cries of supporters. The elderly man, gentle and refined both in looks and demeanor, narrowed his curved eyes, and, accompanied by his unremarkable-looking wife, walked into the voting hall.
