“Two kinds of women have leave to wander through this world alone and unmolested. Nuns, and widows. And I am not close enough with God to be a nun.” “So it is a lie, then.” Sabine taps the empty bottle thoughtfully against the table. “No. I did have a husband. Once.” There it is again, that flash of teeth. A smile so slight and yet so dazzling that when María sees it, the ground seems to pitch downhill. She finds herself leaning forward, the urge to follow, or to fall. “How did he die?” she asks. The widow’s smile widens. “Slowly.”
