A veil that had wiped off the sweat of Christ? Who could possibly believe that? (…) The only true Veronica of this century was the veronica of the matador – the classic slow swing of the cape before the bull’s face, imitating that holy wiping, mocking it.
He stepped aside as a fight got going between an attendant and some kid by the Alkool display, hopping backwards in a practised veronica when a bottle broke, fearful for his flares.