70.

One night, the maiden finds her sister drunk, throwing stones at an upper window of the monastery. “Havana,” she says gently, “please stop.”

Postergirl of bloodshot heartbreak, Havana stumbles forward. “It’s too late. He’s already coming down. To forgive me.”

The maiden pulls back her sister’s hair, sopping with whiskey and bile. “I thought it was the end?”

“Nah.” Havana smiles, weak and wasted. “That’s the only lie he tells.”