Samuelson asked her a series of questions in her own tongue, which she answered in a near whisper. They spoke a long time. Never once did she bring up her eyes, as if she feared our gaze would turn her to stone. She then walked down the beach towards her own camp, but before she had gone a few steps, she spoke one last time to Samuelson. He nodded. —Well? What did she say? Tillman asked. —She had a husband once. —Pretty young thing like that. Doubt any man would give that up. So, what happened to the fellow? —She killed him, Samuelson said.—Slit his throat as he slept.
