The Altamiras live in the neighborhood of Malate, a couple of miles south of Intramuros, and not too far from the place where Shaftoe has just had his half hour of Glory along the seawall. The city has gone mad, and it’s impossible to get a car. Sailors, marines, and soldiers are spewing from bars, nightclubs, and ballrooms and commandeering taxis in groups of four and six—it’s as crazy as Shanghai on Saturday night—like the war’s already here. Shaftoe ends up carrying Glory halfway home, because her shoes aren’t made for walking.