Esther was weaving a basket, but paused in her work to look up and squint at her sister in amusement. “Bel, really? Do you love murder ballads because you want to be murdered? Or because you don’t, not really, but you get to have it safely in six stanzas and a looping refrain?” Ysabel laughed. “You’ve turned it backwards! I’m saying if I were murdered, the ghost of me might still like to hear murder ballads!”
