She said little, but Inmaculada could read the doctor’s face, and the face said that this was no longer a matter of one troubled young woman’s imagination.

It was a pattern, methodical and repeated, written in small punctures on the arms of sleeping nuns.

“I have practiced medicine for twenty years,” Guadalupe told Inmaculada privately, in the office with the door shut.

“I know what a person looks like when someone has been putting them under, again and again, and being careful about it.

Whoever is doing this knows what they’re doing.

This is not clumsy.