“Yes, I am very well.”
Teresa had a new, soft bloom on her dark skin, something frail and tender, which she did not want to have to defend against another woman.
“I think I will go home now Ramón has come,” said Kate.
“Oh, why? Do you wish to?”
“I think I’d better.”
“Then I will go with you to Sayula. In the boat, no?”
Kate put her few things together. She had slept badly. The night had been black, black, with something of horror in it. As when the bandits had attacked Ramón. She could see the scar in his back, in the night. And the drumming crash of falling water, menacing and horrible, seemed to keep up for hours.
In her soul, Kate felt Teresa’s contempt for her way of wifehood.
“I have been married too,” Kate had said. “To a very exceptional man, whom I loved.”
“Ah, yes!” said Teresa. “And he died.”